


Tauris WIP

by HARTandSOLwrites (doomedpassion2yaoi)



Series: Tauris [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Purple Prose, True Alpha Scott, True Mates, WIP, as in wolf hierarchy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3449441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomedpassion2yaoi/pseuds/HARTandSOLwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott McCall like any other maturing and mature unmated werewolf seeks a mate through scent. He follows a beautiful - the leakage of the essence of a person's soul - scent. He finds that the subject of his affections is none other than his rival, Jackson Whittemore and that more than likely his amorous attentions will not be well received. At least Scott has some degree of control over himself. He's heard enough horror stories about matings from Derek and Stiles that he's unwilling to force his potential mate, although his instincts are quite sure that Jackson is his true mate. Jackson remains quite oblivious to Scott's affection for him until...</p><p>    On the other side of the equation, Tau is the Greek character for Life. They also denote a true intersexed were or human. In a world where Tauris are near extinct in the human genome and exists only recessively, and is relatively rare dominantly in the werewolf genome, Jackson Whittemore unexpectedly manifests as a Tauris after the bite and enters a heat cycle.</p><p>    Good thing Scott's there, maybe. At least Scott thinks that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Scent

**Author's Note:**

> There are differences between sex and gender, which I have outlined a little for you here:  
> Sex – biological designation based on the reproductive organs and associated hormones e.g. Woman, Man, Intersex: http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/001669.htm  
> Gender – sociological categories by which sex are classified; has a values attached to rankings; Male, Female  
> For the purposes of this fic, I have “created” a new gender designation, which I have outlined below.  
> Tau is Greek for Life. It denotes a true intersex were or human’s gender. Intersex usually does not occur as cleanly in humans as it does in weres. There are few if any cases of true intersex in humans.  
> In humans this gender was said to have become obsolete, but the chromosome that causes the reproductive organs categorized under this gender remains latent.  
> Carrier chromosome (T) – latent in humans, but can be dominant in purebred werewolf lines. The carrier chromosome that is Tau paired with X and is inherited from the mother. The Carrier’s chromosome structure reads as XTY.  
> This story begins in season 1. I've been struggling with this fic for a while, and decided I'd just post the first chapter anyway. Just to see what the reception is. I can't promise quick updates because I'm not quite sure how to work this fic just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited July 28, 2016
> 
> I just realized how much purple prose I used in all that sensory detail in Scott's experiences of Jacksbaby's scent. So therefore I added the tag too today.
> 
> doomedpassion

Since that night at the bowling alley, there has been an itch.  It’s a shadow over every action he takes and every thought that drifts through his mind.  It’s a seed that niggles in every corner.  There’s something that he needs to see, touch…have, but he can’t…or doesn’t know what it is.  His skin feels too tight, too warm.

His dreams are filled with pleasures he barely remembers the next day.  The only physical evidence his phantom leaves are stained sheets, and the smell of teenage werewolf wet dream.  There is also the sensory memory or imagined stimuli of the scent of spring.  It’s not that he hasn’t tried, but he cannot find that scent on Allison, even underneath her mild body wash.  And every time he scents her all he can smell is thorns and wolfsbane.  His nose burns, his temples ache and his stomach roils.

He snuggles deeper into his bed.  He never wants to stop dreaming.  It is the only place where he can meet his beloved.  But the microscopic gap between window and frame is all too noticeable to the young wolf, and he groans in irritation when the air currents shift.  The sun will dawn soon.  He throws an arm over his eyes too late.  The first dust of dawn teases his eyelids.

He opens his eyes just as the birds begin to chirp, even before the sun’s rays begin to warm his face. He barely needs his alarm clock these days. He breathes deeply. He can smell the cool bite of frost beginning to coat the green and brown outside. He longs for Spring.

Today’s a good day, I hope, but the Alpha is still out there.

As per his routine since the Bite, he’s got time to go slow. His mom has late shift tonight and he wants to spend some time with her, so it’s a good thing he gets up so early these days. He pulls out five pieces of bread, three eggs, onions, peppers, tomato and cheddar strips.

He greases the pan and chops everything quietly and quickly. He beats the egg mix with a spatula and heats the cheese slightly on the stove with its ceramic plate. His mom needs sleep and it won’t do to wake her up after last night’s late shift. At least she hasn’t been on the graveyard shift. He swills the egg, adds a bit of milk, tests the pan for heat and pours it into the pan watching it sizzle lightly. He adds some cheese, all the peppers and onion. He mixes it together watches as the egg begins to bounce and solidify. He adds in the last of the cheese and all the tomato. He pulls the omelet off the stove.  It’s still slightly runny, but that’s fine. Its cheesy and delicious aroma wafts upwards and his stomach grumbles. It’s clearly not enough protein for a growing werewolf, but it won’t do to make his mother suspicious.  Three pieces of toast aren’t enough to warrant much suspicion.  Besides, he can grab a snack along the way.  Maybe he can mooch something off Stiles…

He coats four pieces of toast thinly in butter, the fifth and last piece is treated to a peanut butter spa – that’s one of his snacks. Yay for preservatives and plastic packaging that scrapes his taste buds raw. At least it’s got protein that he’s still able to digest.

Light taps upstairs indicate his mother’s awake and getting ready to face the day. He tunes her out and sets the table, keeping everything heated on the stove. The omelet is perfect when his mother walks down.  She goes directly to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of milk – they still do milk deliveries in Beacon Hills.

“Toast and an omelet for two, mom. Coffee?” He turns to the cupboard above the coffee maker and pulls out a cup.

“Thanks Scott.” She kisses him on the cheek, as he hands her a fresh cup of steaming caffeine. She pours in the milk and hands it him.

They sit down together at the table and Scott divides the omelet equally.

“Mm. This is good,” his mother raises an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”

He smiles at her, dimples deepening. “We haven’t spent as much time together these past weeks and I wanted to hang out.”

“Aw baby,” murmurs his mother. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“Thanks mom,” Scott blushes and ducks his head. “I miss you, you know?”

“If you told your young lady that, she’d most definitely swoon, especially if you use that card after only a twelve hour separation,” his mother smiles slyly. “I haven’t heard much about her lately.”

“We, uh,” says Scott. “We’re friends, nothing more.”

“I see,” says his mother, “there’s not one true path when it comes to love and romance. Sometimes there’s a fork in the road.”

“I guess,” says Scott, returning to his breakfast.

He can’t tell her everything. He doesn’t say, it isn’t that I don’t want to stay on that path, but we’re just too different. He doesn’t know whether Allison knows about hunters and hunting werewolves, or if she is one.  If she doesn’t know, she will soon with Kate Argent in the picture.  And if she already is, she seems the type to be more willing to toe the line and it scares him.  I can’t trust her to make a good call. 

He wants to protect the town, but not at the cost of making the decision to put down or neutralize threats to the community. The kill blow is the very last resort, if at all.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” his mother says.

“Not right now mom,” he keeps his head down, slowly eating his food, rather eating it the same way he always has even though his stomach gnaws a little.

He cannot let his mother in on his secret.  It’s too dangerous to involve her.   He hopes that she never gets involved.   It is bad enough that Stiles is in this mess, not that he’s forgotten his idiot best friend’s role in it, even as he’s forgiven his like-a-brother.

They spend the rest of breakfast silently eating.

He doesn’t rush out the door. There’s no need. There’s still quite a bit of time before the bell rings.  He bikes at a little over human speed. He wants to speed up, but he knows better. It’s dangerous with the Argents here.

He’s always enjoyed biking – it had been his first love before lacrosse. He’s worked hard enough to get here with his asthma and all. It is one of the things he’s worked at to strengthen his cardio response, and that was before he started using it as a mode of transportation to and from school. He doesn’t want to lose that privilege. And he certainly doesn’t want to get dead, thanks. He is close to the school, when the scent hits him.

It’s the scent of spring – fresh cut grass, soil, spearmint, leather, and –––– it’s beautiful, but faint. He wants to know what it is. He can’t help but speed up a little. It smells too good to let go. It snakes its way into his nasal receptors and leashes him.  But the current dies, and the scent almost never was.

Scott blinks.  The slight traces of it grows stronger, as he latches onto it, inhaling deeply.  He wants, needs, to imprint it in his memory so that every nuance of it is there when he is lonely at night.  He barely understands, but here is an undertone of bitter cold intertwined in that scent as if it never wants to leave winter or that the frost clings so deep that even if it wanted it cannot escape.

Scott shudders.  The closer he gets the more he wants it. I’m in love. Logically, he knows he’s putting himself in danger, but he can’t help it. It’s not just “love”, he’s high on it. He craves it, needs it. Mate. Protect. He cannot forget that frightening chill that seeps into the sweet spring he scents. All he can do is follow it, the groups of students talking and walking through the doors blur together and he barely registers entering the school, until…

No! It can’t be. Leaning against the lockers, one beside Danny Mahealani’s, is the Hawaiian boy’s best friend Jackson Whittemore.

He skids to a halt. The shock kicks his frontal lobe back into high gear. He groans. Fuck. Why does Jackson smell so good? 

He flinches and staggers, attempting to resist the urge to lunge towards it – him. Doesn’t matter that it’s still the most delicious, and fragile, scent he’s ever encountered, he can’t take it when it’s a person, especially not if that person is Jackson Whittemore. He really wants to reach out and ––––

I have more control than that. He can’t stop the rumble in his chest, but he stifles it before he growls. His eyes flash gold. He takes a deep breath to calm himself. Shit. The scent invades his nasal cavities and he has to curl his fingers into fists to stop himself from reaching out.

His finger nails dig into his skin.  The dull shock throws him out of his daze for a moment, but the scent drags him under its spell again.*  He barely notices the shoal of students hurrying around him. He shuffles awkwardly toward his locker and slumps against it, banging the back of his head against it rather gently for a werewolf and really hard for a human. He groans.

It’s been weeks since his first transformation. He and the wolf are more integrated now than they were before. Derek’s said that this wasn’t common in Turned wolves. Great. I’m special. Sarcasm intended thanks. His senses and reflexes are not only sharper, but better accessed. Yet, they’ve just betrayed him.

Why does he think Jackson Whittemore smells good – beautiful, even?  Why does he think the jock needs protection? Like what the fuck? And why is his limbic system telling him to mount the jerk? There’s no answer other than obvious – he smells good enough to eat. He has an image of Jackson wrapped in a red cape and nothing else. Better yet, just naked in the woods. But he can’t not until he knows his mate will accept him, will feel safe with him. He swallows. Mate. Fuck. A thump beside him shocks him out of his thoughts.  He inhales and blinks rapidly. He is only _just_ able to hold back a full transformation, but growls low, eyes flashing gold, “Stiles.”

“Yo. Dude something’s bothering you. You didn’t notice me at all, and by notice I mean scent,” says Stiles, leaning against the abused locker with an abused shoulder. Ouch.

“I was only able to catch your attention when I slammed like my shoulder into the poor locker. It’s okay baby. I’ve got you.” Stiles caresses the locker like it’s precious to him.

“Huh?”  Scott stares.

“Normally you’d have snorted by now.” Stiles glares at Scott. “You’ve got that look on your face where you’ve been hit over the head by falling in like with something or someone.” 

“I don’t!” cries Scott.

“Now you’ve got the one where you do that thing,” Stiles points at Scott’s eyebrows, “when you have something to hide.”

“What thing?” Scott frowns at Stiles.

“The thing that you do when you used to decide to text or see Allison even though it’s a freaking bad idea!”  Stiles flails, unable to describe _the_ face that his best friend and brother makes.

Scott sighs, sliding down his locker. “I’ll tell you about it later, at your place.”

“How serious is this?” Stiles hitches his backpack up higher, it slipped a little while he was flailing.

“I-I’ll tell you later, okay?” Scott closes his eyes.

“Fine.” Stiles taps his foot impatiently and holds out a hand for his best friend to take.

Scott sighs, grasps Stiles’s hand and stands up. “Good. Let’s get to class.”

They walk to homeroom together. They sit in their usual spots next to each other. Scott let’s his head fall onto the table. He knows he can keep some calm here for the next couple minutes before the bell rings.

He can smell him before he comes in. He stiffens. He flexes his fingers and clenches them tight. He can feel his heartbeat begin to drum. He pants. He needs. Mate. Stop.

“Dude. Calm down. You’re getting wolfy,” hisses Stiles. “Breathe with me.”

“Okay.” Scott immediately latches onto the calm of Stiles’s heartbeat and the rhythm of his breaths.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when Lydia flounces in and plants her ass down beside Jackson.

Scott can barely pay attention to their teacher. Stiles takes good notes and if he doesn’t, all the info’s there in that steel trap mind of his. He can just pick his brain later. He lets his eyes glaze over and subtly sniffs and basks in the scent of his newest addiction.

He can smell a change in that beautiful scent. Interest. Arousal. His eyes snap open. He growls. Lydia – a potential rival, which is strange because Danny doesn’t blip the radar as one – dares touch his mate. But she isn’t just a rival, she is a threat to his mate. He snarls when she draws a line from shoulder down to chest a finger down the body that should belong to him, and leans in for a peck on the lips.

“Dude,” Stiles comments, “your eyes just turned gold and your nails were growing rapid-like. Did you just nearly wolf out when Lydia touched Jackson? Do you have a thing for her too?”

“Yes and no.” Scott scrunches his nose.

“Wha- ” Stiles scratches his head, then tilts his head back towards Scott, “oh. Oh!”

That’s when he decides to call it quits. He drags Stiles with him to the field – they’re supposed to be in class, but this is more important – and under the bleachers.

“So, tell me everything.” Stiles’s eyes are wide and expectant.

“I…uh…I…” Scott says and loses his nerve. This is so embarrassing. This is in a whole different league than telling him I’m bi. I already knew he was with his googoo eyes at Lydia and sometimes a flicker towards Danny. Been there done that, we’re okay with it. He ends up blurting it out, “He smells really good.”

“This has got to be a wolf thing. One sec.” Stiles pulls out his phone, and hunches over it working his research magic. “Thank god for data. Here.”

He sucks in a breath. “Well, if this works out we’ll be seeing a lot more Jackson.”

He sucks in his cheeks like he’s eaten something sour. “Guess I’ve got to learn to be nice to him.”

“What?” Scott frowns, the corners of his eyes sharpen.

Stiles watches his friend, letting the suspense build.

“Stiles,” growls Scott, eyes growing gold.

“You look like you’ve got a question mark tattooed on your face, Scottie.” Stiles grins wide and manic, “Scents, pheromones and mating. He’s a potential, heavy on the potent.”

 “Explain.” Scott’s eyes dig gold lasers into Stiles’s.

“Remember today last week when you said that there’s always a part of you that can’t commit to Allison? Well she’s not your perfect match. In fact, quote Allison’s perfume makes my nose itch unquote. Wolves choose their mates by scent,” Stiles gesticulates excitedly about all this new information now downloaded onto his brain.

Scott gulps. Shit! I don’t like where this is going. He swallows his unease, and croaks, “And?”

“You just told me you liked the way Jackson smells, and five minutes ago you were flipping out about Lydia touching him,” says Stiles slowly and enunciating each word so Scott won’t have the luxury of denial. “She’s putting her scent on him and you obviously don’t like it. You want to put yours on him and mark him too. Am I right?”

“Shit on a stick,” mutters Scott.

“Yeah,” says Stiles, pausing slightly, “so now what?”

The brunet wolf lowers his head and his expression can only be described as hangdog. “Um…learn to control myself all over again I guess and eventually work up the courage to talk to him?”

“He’ll shoot you down so fast, you wouldn’t even be able to out run it,” the overly energetic human lets his mouth run, lest he is interrupted in expressing what he believes to be a painful truth.

“Stiles!” Scott’s eyes flash gold.

 He continues mournfully, “You should have a little confidence in me. I’m your best friend and we’re practically brothers.”

“What?” Stiles’s nose twitches as his brows scrunch together. “He’s a jerk jock and not to mention straight as a board.”

“Damn,” the fluffy haired brunet grumbles, wiping a hand down his face. “What am I going to do?”

“Wait. I’ve got a question,” crows Stiles, “do you think he’s the bitch?”

“There is no bitch,” Scott snarls.

Instinct brings up the image of slamming into Jackson’s plush bottom and knotting him, but the use of the word bitch still pisses the hell out of him. His eyes glow gold, claws push out his cuticles.

“Woah. Calm down buddy. Didn’t mean to offend anyone,” the human backs away slowly, tilting his neck in submission, hoping his friend won’t rip out his throat.

The brunet wolf roars, spittle flying and sucks in a breath. He fades back into his human skin.

Scott’s hangdog expression reappears, this time aimed with purpose at his best friend and brother. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Stiles nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I added this to show more conflict with Scott toward the revelation that he is attracted to Jackson Whittemore.


	2. The Thrall

Scott watches Stiles walk back towards the school. I should

Scott watches Stiles walk back towards the school. I should apologize properly. Stiles shouldn’t have to put up with my shit. He knows he should be able to control himself by now given how fast he’s been learning. He puts his head in his hands. What am I going to do now?

He can’t go back inside. He’s not controlled enough to be able to handle going to class when Jackson and Lydia are in there _together_. He growls. Great. I can’t even think about them together without wanting to kill something or someone, preferably Lydia. God. Stiles is going to kill me.

That snuffs the anger. Stiles is brother. He’s not going to kill his brother’s choice of mate, even if she’s a skanky ho no matter how smart she is. She chose to be seen this way. Goddamn!

He stretches his hearing and latches onto Stiles’s heartbeat – strong, calm, and tightly controlled. Usually his anchor is his mother, but it feels wrong for this situation. Stiles understands what he’s going through to a certain degree.

He rolls onto the grass and stares at the sky. He stays until what he knows to be Jackson’s free period. He knows that his mate is bound to walk onto the field to practice. He groans and forces himself to sit up, and move to stand. He brushes off grass and dirt. He walks back towards the school. So what if there’s practice tonight? He can’t stand being in Jackson’s space. He needs out, but… That scent is drifting towards him.

His feet are gummed to the ground.

Rather, he can’t bring himself to move, even though he really should. He forces himself to step forward. The scent concentrates, and his mate’s panther-built form grows in his visual field. He wants more than anything is to run and tackle his mate onto the grass and –––– He closes his eyes. Here it comes. God I’m such a masochist. He fights the urge to laugh.

“What are you doing out here, McCall? You want to lose co-captaincy that badly? Congratulations on that.” Jackson smiles sweet poison. “By the way, I completely support you in it.”

Scott freezes. His other option is throwing Jackson to the ground and –––– He shakes his head to clear it. His eyes flash gold. He turns, completely missing the look of fear in Jackson’s eyes. He can smell it though and his limbic system crashes. Mate scared. Comfort mate? He’s afraid of us. A part of him wants to curl up around Jackson and beg for forgiveness. Another part wants to curl up and die, but the stronger part tells him to live and prove himself. He’s always been good at following his instincts.

“Actually, I’m good,” says Scott, looking Jackson in the eye. He turns around and sniffs. Ah, that scent was beautiful before the fear. Now? It’s better saturated with shock. He can’t stop the smirk from crawling onto his lips, as he walks away from the subject of his newest obsession. He mock salutes, his co-captain. “See you later.”

He grins when he feels Jackson’s eyes on him. He suppresses the urge to whoop.

He freezes.

The scent of decay and death, he’s noticed in the locker room a couple weeks ago, it’s coming from his mate. It’s a miasma. It scares him and pisses him off, makes him want to kill someone, something. Only there’s nothing to kill. It’s an illness.

Suddenly he’s not as high off his conversation with his mate as he was a minute ago. He slouches and shuffles back to school without losing control, if only because he’s worried and depressed. It has nothing to do with Jackson being on the field and him being inside. He’s going to do this right. He’s probably going to be ‘borrowing’ some of his mother’s supplies.

He still needs to apologize to Stiles. He listens, honing in on his friend’s usually bouncy steps. There. He musters up the strength and beeline jogs up to him.

“Stiles! Hey.” Scott skids to a stop beside his best friend and brother. “I just want to apologize for earlier.”

“Uh huh,” says Stiles, raising a brow.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Scott, turning his puppy browns at Stiles.

“Get a room fags.”

Scott ignores them, watching Stiles flip them off.

“Don’t encourage them,” says Scott. “If we respond, we’ll be falling into the social accepted pattern of retaliation. We don’t need to do that.”

“What happened to the Scott I know?” cries Stiles, “You’re not a pod person are you?”

“Would I tell you if I was?” Scott sighs. He feels a little more grown up than Stiles is at this moment. At least he’s forgiven. Well one of them has to be immature one, and Stiles is doing good at it.

“Nope,” Stiles grins. “So whatcha gonna do about your…uh…problem.”

“It isn’t a problem,” says Scott. “It’s a…complication.”

“You know…if the Alpha finds out…” says Stiles.

“He won’t. It’s not going to become a problem. That scent is beautiful –” And it is under the miasma of sickness. Scott’s eyes glaze over, as he remembers the enticing scent that attracts him like no other. He walks sleep slow and loose-limbed towards the doors to the field to the place where he smelled that scent last.

Stiles stands in shock. When he realizes that Scott is lumbering away, he jogs to keep up. Half-way to the door, Stiles grabs his best friend and brother by the arm and shakes.

Scott’s eyes turn gold, and he bares his fangs.

“Beautiful? You think he smells beautiful?” hisses Stiles. “Oh my god! You’re like a masochist, you know that right?”

Scott doesn’t say anything. Stiles is right. He’s thought of that only ten-fifteen minutes ago. He turns and walks to his locker and pulls out his books. Whether Stiles follows or not, he doesn’t really care. He has better things to do than answer to that like get to class. He’s already had another lapse of control. He’s not going to let anything get in the way of it.

“Dude! I wasn’t trying to insult you,” says Stiles, jogging to catch up.

Scott turns and looks at Stiles, raising an eyebrow.

“Come on man. You know I didn’t mean anything like that,” says Stiles, chewing his bottom lip.

“Whatever man,” says Scott. “We’re not talking about this again.”

“Your pretty baby?” Stiles grins.

“No. The other thing,” says Scott, eyes flashing gold.

“Alright,” says Stiles, raising his hands in surrender. He can’t very well tilt his neck. This jungle they’re in is filled with humans – one of which is already suspicious, even better that it’s Scott’s headstrong potential mate. Please note the sarcasm on even better.

Scott nods. “Good. C’mon let’s get to class.”

“Scott. Wait.” Stiles claps a hand to Scott’s shoulder, stopping him from moving based on socially circulated norms. His friend and brother could throw him off if he wanted.

“What?” The corners of Scott’s eyes narrow.

“I found something you’re not going to like. I wanted to tell you just now, but I didn’t know how.” Stiles closes his eyes and takes a breath. “I think you might start getting sick again. I’m not sure if it’s true…but there is that chance.”

“That’s impossible.” Scott shrugs Stiles’s hand off his shoulder.

“He’s rejected you right? I think your health is dependent on his acceptance of you.” Stiles trips out.

“I’m fine.” Scott walks towards class, leaving Stiles to watch his retreating back, before following.

Through sheer force of will, Scott forces himself to stay focused in class instead of letting his attention wander to what Stiles might call stalking via wolf-hearing and wolf-scenting. He digs his claws into his leg to keep his attention on Harris and his lecture – biology, Jackson’s in their physics and chemistry class. The words blur together because he can’t keep his mind off pale pink plush lips. He wants to kiss and ––––

“Dude. You’re bleeding,” hisses Stiles. “It’s getting all over the tile and your eyes are glazed over. Do you even notice the pain and the scent of blood and the dripping sound it makes when it hits the floor? Never mind I know you don’t. Scott.” After not getting a response, Stiles whispers harshly, “Scott!”

Scott jerks out of his daydream. He nearly dents the lab bench.

“Mr. McCall and Mr. Stilinski would you like to tell what is going on over there?”

Everyone turns to look at them.

A dark haired student raises his hand, “Sir. Scott’s bleeding.”

“Well then, McCall. Go to the nurse’s and make sure not to contaminate the classroom. Stilinski clean up.”

“Yes sir.” Scott and Stiles look at each other and sigh.

“Go on bro, get yourself looked after, man? And if you need to go home, text me, yeah?” says Stiles. “I’ll get you notes.”

“Thanks, even if it’s your chicken scratch,” Scott mock grumbles.

“My notes aren’t that bad!” cries Stiles.

“I was just teasing man,” says Scott grinning unrepentantly, until his leg twinges. He winces and bites his lip to stop a whine of pain from erupting from his vocal chords. “Your notes are top grade, discounting Lydia’s, although I think she’s second.”

“Aw how sweet, Scottie,” coos Stiles. “Go along to the nurse’s office to get your booboo treated.”

“That’s sweet of you too.” Scot grimaces. When he tries to get up, it hurts like hell. He’s not healing very well, but then again he’s not letting himself heal either. “Ouch.”

Scott limps to the nurse’s dragging his bloodied leg. There’s blood trailing behind him. He doesn’t envy the custodians. They’re going to have fun cleaning that. Thank god there aren’t that many students milling about. They’d all point and complain and call him a freak or something along those lines. He’s not in the mood for it. He’d probably smash some of their faces in. He bristles.

He nearly walks by the figure dressed in dark leather and dark jeans leaning against the wall across from the nurse’s office. He pauses and turns. It’s Derek Hale. He’s surprised-but-not that Derek is there.

A patented dark scowl is aimed at him. The older werewolf wrinkles his nose. “You’re bleeding.”

“So what if I am?” growls Scott.

Once Stiles knows, Derek knows too. It’s not that much of a surprise to Scott that he’s being slammed once again by Derek Hale into a hard surface – the wall. The older Beta’s forearm digs into Scott’s throat. He huffs in short breaths.

“He’s one of your potential mates. Unless you learn to control yourself, you are not fit for the field. You’ll get us all killed,” hisses Derek. “In case you haven’t noticed stabbing yourself with your claws is _not_ controlling yourself. Even worse, the Alpha is still out there. If he scents this out that boy will get hurt, or even get killed.” Derek’s eyes flash blue, “Do you understand?”

“A-aye,” mutters Scott, backing a step or trying to, anyway. His brain has forgotten that he’s pinned to a wall. Derek is older and stronger and pure-blooded. They’re not evenly matched otherwise he’d take that as a challenge, and fight, but he can’t. “I get it.”

“Good.” Derek presses his arm harder into Scott’s neck and releases him. “Don’t heal too fast. Humans might get suspicious.” He nods towards the end of the hall. It’s Jackson.

Mate. Scott almost loses control and lunges, but he pulls himself back. I’m going to the nurse, get my leg checked out. I’ve got to ask her if I can go to practice, if not I’ll have to hand coach a note. He needs to be away from Jackson for a couple days. Maybe I’ll be able to control myself by the time we have to be in class and on the lacrosse field together. He breathes through his mouth. It prevents some of the scent from clogging up his brain. Or it would have worked if his taste buds weren’t so strong and already magnetized to Jackson’s distinct aroma. He groans, letting his claws stab into the palms of his flesh.

“Thanks for the warning Derek,” Scott says, even though he knows the older werewolf is gone.

Scott turns into the nurse’s office. She clucks at him and asks him questions he can’t answer. She sighs and treats his leg with alcohol and disinfectant cream. She stitches and bandages his leg tight and hands him a note for coach. All the while he hides his bloodied hand from her. When she kicks him out he goes, hands still in his pockets.

“McCall!”

“Jackson.” Scott’s tired and sore and disappointed in himself. He doesn’t want to fight his mate nor his own urges to rut against said mate. “I’m not in the mood. Go bother some other idiot.”

“Oh ho,” crows Jackson, “admitting you’re an idiot now are you? There’s a good boy.”

“Jackson,” snarls Scott, eyes glaring gold. He fists his hands inside his hoodie pockets. He can feel his nails sharpening and lengthening into claws. Great more blood loss.

The jock backs away.

Scott wants to throw up. Mate. Fear. The stench is overwhelming. He wants to fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He wants to lunge and wrap himself around his mate to comfort him with licks, kisses and cuddling. He wants to link their fingers so that he can take his mate out to his bike, so they can go to the beach or buy ice-cream. He wants…He closes his eyes.

“You better be gone when I open my eyes,” he says instead because he can’t do any of those things.

Derek and Stiles are right. He’s a masochist and he’s in danger of losing control, and if he’s in danger of losing control the only people who will get hurt is his mate and himself, and maybe Lydia. I’ve got to leave before I hurt him. I can’t and I won’t hurt him.

He decides to go to Deaton. Maybe he can explain what this is. He limps towards his front entrance. Then he remembers his note. He turns back and goes to coach’s classroom where he’s teaching history of all things. He knocks lightly on the door, and enters. He hands coach the note – there’s blood on it.

“You ready to lose co-captaincy?”

“I’m injured sir,” says Scott. He needs time off. He can’t be in the same anywhere with Jackson and not want to – and he can’t do any of those things he wants to do, not if it hurts his mate.

“What’s a bit of pain when we’re going to win? We need you McCall. Where are your guts and competition? Whittemore isn’t enough to hold the team by himself.”

“Fine. I’ll be back for practice.” Scott turns to walk towards the exit.

“McCall. Don’t disappoint.”

“Yes coach,” sighs Scott. God, what am I going to do? He scrubs a hand over his face. He has to get to Deaton.

He can feel the drill of his co-captain’s gaze boring into his back. He hates himself for it, but he has to keep his secret from his mate. It’s safer for him.

He limps all the way to his bike. He leans against her for a moment and forces himself heal. It wouldn’t do for him to bike with a wound in his leg.

It takes close to half an hour before he completely heals, but by then he’s already on his bike riding with his desperation and rage fueling adrenaline. His mate has rejected him more than once these past couple days. He wants to roll over and die, but it’s not an option. Even if Jackson doesn’t acknowledge me as mate, hell he doesn’t even know about this development, protecting mate and mom and Stiles is everything. If my presence can keep them safe, then I can’t and won’t give up. There’s no alternative. He growls, lowly under his breath. His eyes glow red for a moment. And if I die, I’ll take the Alpha with me.

“Deaton! Dr. Deaton!” Scott slams through the doorway.

“Scott!” Alan Deaton’s shock and concern only shows through his voice. His outer appearance is otherwise unflappable and kind as always. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“This can’t wait. I need to talk to you.” Scott pants. He braces his shivering body against a wall. “This is urgent.”

“Come in. Let’s go to the back. Barring any emergencies, there aren’t any appointments today.”

“I found my mate. Herejectedmemultipletimes.” Scott’s panting is growing harsher, his breaths come out high pitched and with a slight whine. “Shit.” He coughs, leaning against the wall. “I think…hic…my asthma…hic…is coming…back.” Scott pants. “Stiles…hic…he said…hic…I’ll…waste away…if…my mate…rejects…me?”

“I’m sorry my friend, he’s right.”

“Is there…anything…?” Scott looks up, body trembling with the lack of oxygen reaching his bloodstream.

“You need to spend time with your mate.”

Scott shakes his head. He bangs the back of his head against the wall. “Hates…me…stupid…hic…I’m so…stupid…”

“Calm down Scott. You need to calm down. Listen to the sound of my voice and to me breathing, okay?”

Scott nods, closing his eyes. He focuses on his boss and friend’s voice and the swish of his lungs. He feels himself begin to calm as his breathing syncs up with his mentor’s. He croaks, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet Scott.” Deaton frowns. “I have an experimental serum, if you would like to try it. It may kill you or render you impotent.”

“My mate is male, Deaton.” Scott scrubs a hand down his face. “If it kills me at least I tried something, right?” Scott’s smiles bittersweet and lopsided. “I need something to help me survive a little longer so I can take the Alpha down with me.”

“I’ll prepare it,” says Deaton. He rummages around his supplies and comes up with a variety of herbs and some strain of treated Wolfsbane.

Scott watches as Deaton portions and mixes the herbs together, grinding them together in a stone bowl with a pestle. He watches his mentor mix the powder into water and stir. He already knows what’s going to happen next. Deaton pours the mixture into an empty IV bag and hooks the bagged concoction onto a stand. On one of the other prongs, Deaton secures a standard saline drip. Scott shivers and refuses to watch Deaton sterilize and coat one an IV needle with treated Wolfsbane.

“Make a fist for me Scott.” Deaton ties a plastic band around Scott’s arm and flicks his charge’s arm. He locates the vein and, sterilizes it and the surrounding area. He doesn’t give warning and stabs in. It hits the vein perfectly.

Scott breathes a sigh of relief. The hard part is over. His healing kicks in. There wasn’t so much Wolfsbane that it completely threw him into agony, it just slowed his healing a little. His arm is fine with a new addition for medicating his brain chemistry. He watches Deaton screw on the IV cord and fiddle with the dial counter.

“You’ll need to stay for two hours,” says Deaton. “I exchange the saline drip for the medication in half an hour.”

“Fine,” says Scott. “I have to get to Lacrosse practice. My mate…he’s expecting me.”

“Scott…be careful.”

“I will doc. I’ll still be here for another two hours. You can lecture me whatever for that long if you want, while,” says Scott grinning impishly, “you’re making sure I’m not going to die.”

Deaton’s lip twitches and he shakes his head.

Scott’s grin widens. As he watches his mentor leave the room, his grin cracks off his face and shatters on the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts. Mate not want. His instincts scream at him to claw off the IV. He shouldn’t want to survive after rejection. I have to protect them, all of them, even fucking Lydia. None of the mundanes know the truth. If he doesn’t do something Beacon Hills is toast. He has to save them. Maybe…maybe Jackson will look at me with a little less hate? He groans. Who am I kidding? Jackson will never stop hating me now that I seem to be getting on par with him. Mate not hate. He bangs the back of his head against the wall he’s propped up against. What the hell is he going to do?

apologize properly. Stiles shouldn’t have to put up with my shit. He knows he should be able to control himself by now given how fast he’s been learning. He puts his head in his hands. What am I going to do now?

He can’t go back inside. He’s not controlled enough to be able to handle going to class when Jackson and Lydia are in there _together_. He growls. Great. I can’t even think about them together without wanting to kill something or someone, preferably Lydia. God. Stiles is going to kill me.

That snuffs the anger. Stiles is brother. He’s not going to kill his brother’s choice of mate, even if she’s a skanky ho no matter how smart she is. She chose to be seen this way. Goddamn!

He stretches his hearing and latches onto Stiles’s heartbeat – strong, calm, and tightly controlled. Usually his anchor is his mother, but it feels wrong for this situation. Stiles understands what he’s going through to a certain degree.

He rolls onto the grass and stares at the sky. He stays until what he knows to be Jackson’s free period. He knows that his mate is bound to walk onto the field to practice. He groans and forces himself to sit up, and move to stand. He brushes off grass and dirt. He walks back towards the school. So what if there’s practice tonight? He can’t stand being in Jackson’s space. He needs out, but… That scent is drifting towards him.

His feet are gummed to the ground.

Rather, he can’t bring himself to move, even though he really should. He forces himself to step forward. The scent concentrates, and his mate’s panther-built form grows in his visual field. He wants more than anything is to run and tackle his mate onto the grass and –––– He closes his eyes. Here it comes. God I’m such a masochist. He fights the urge to laugh.

“What are you doing out here, McCall? You want to lose co-captaincy that badly? Congratulations on that.” Jackson smiles sweet poison. “By the way, I completely support you in it.”

Scott freezes. His other option is throwing Jackson to the ground and –––– He shakes his head to clear it. His eyes flash gold. He turns, completely missing the look of fear in Jackson’s eyes. He can smell it though and his limbic system crashes. Mate scared. Comfort mate? He’s afraid of us. A part of him wants to curl up around Jackson and beg for forgiveness. Another part wants to curl up and die, but the stronger part tells him to live and prove himself. He’s always been good at following his instincts.

“Actually, I’m good,” says Scott, looking Jackson in the eye. He turns around and sniffs. Ah, that scent was beautiful before the fear. Now? It’s better saturated with shock. He can’t stop the smirk from crawling onto his lips, as he walks away from the subject of his newest obsession. He mock salutes, his co-captain. “See you later.”

He grins when he feels Jackson’s eyes on him. He suppresses the urge to whoop.

He freezes.

The scent of decay and death, he’s noticed in the locker room a couple weeks ago, it’s coming from his mate. It’s a miasma. It scares him and pisses him off, makes him want to kill someone, something. Only there’s nothing to kill. It’s an illness.

Suddenly he’s not as high off his conversation with his mate as he was a minute ago. He slouches and shuffles back to school without losing control, if only because he’s worried and depressed. It has nothing to do with Jackson being on the field and him being inside. He’s going to do this right. He’s probably going to be ‘borrowing’ some of his mother’s supplies.

He still needs to apologize to Stiles. He listens, honing in on his friend’s usually bouncy steps. There. He musters up the strength and beeline jogs up to him.

“Stiles! Hey.” Scott skids to a stop beside his best friend and brother. “I just want to apologize for earlier.”

“Uh huh,” says Stiles, raising a brow.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Scott, turning his puppy browns at Stiles.

“Get a room fags.”

Scott ignores them, watching Stiles flip them off.

“Don’t encourage them,” says Scott. “If we respond, we’ll be falling into the social accepted pattern of retaliation. We don’t need to do that.”

“What happened to the Scott I know?” cries Stiles, “You’re not a pod person are you?”

“Would I tell you if I was?” Scott sighs. He feels a little more grown up than Stiles is at this moment. At least he’s forgiven. Well one of them has to be immature one, and Stiles is doing good at it.

“Nope,” Stiles grins. “So whatcha gonna do about your…uh…problem.”

“It isn’t a problem,” says Scott. “It’s a…complication.”

“You know…if the Alpha finds out…” says Stiles.

“He won’t. It’s not going to become a problem. That scent is beautiful –” And it is under the miasma of sickness. Scott’s eyes glaze over, as he remembers the enticing scent that attracts him like no other. He walks sleep slow and loose-limbed towards the doors to the field to the place where he smelled that scent last.

Stiles stands in shock. When he realizes that Scott is lumbering away, he jogs to keep up. Half-way to the door, Stiles grabs his best friend and brother by the arm and shakes.

Scott’s eyes turn gold, and he bares his fangs.

“Beautiful? You think he smells beautiful?” hisses Stiles. “Oh my god! You’re like a masochist, you know that right?”

Scott doesn’t say anything. Stiles is right. He’s thought of that only ten-fifteen minutes ago. He turns and walks to his locker and pulls out his books. Whether Stiles follows or not, he doesn’t really care. He has better things to do than answer to that like get to class. He’s already had another lapse of control. He’s not going to let anything get in the way of it.

“Dude! I wasn’t trying to insult you,” says Stiles, jogging to catch up.

Scott turns and looks at Stiles, raising an eyebrow.

“Come on man. You know I didn’t mean anything like that,” says Stiles, chewing his bottom lip.

“Whatever man,” says Scott. “We’re not talking about this again.”

“Your pretty baby?” Stiles grins.

“No. The other thing,” says Scott, eyes flashing gold.

“Alright,” says Stiles, raising his hands in surrender. He can’t very well tilt his neck. This jungle they’re in is filled with humans – one of which is already suspicious, even better that it’s Scott’s headstrong potential mate. Please note the sarcasm on even better.

Scott nods. “Good. C’mon let’s get to class.”

“Scott. Wait.” Stiles claps a hand to Scott’s shoulder, stopping him from moving based on socially circulated norms. His friend and brother could throw him off if he wanted.

“What?” The corners of Scott’s eyes narrow.

“I found something you’re not going to like. I wanted to tell you just now, but I didn’t know how.” Stiles closes his eyes and takes a breath. “I think you might start getting sick again. I’m not sure if it’s true…but there is that chance.”

“That’s impossible.” Scott shrugs Stiles’s hand off his shoulder.

“He’s rejected you right? I think your health is dependent on his acceptance of you.” Stiles trips out.

“I’m fine.” Scott walks towards class, leaving Stiles to watch his retreating back, before following.

Through sheer force of will, Scott forces himself to stay focused in class instead of letting his attention wander to what Stiles might call stalking via wolf-hearing and wolf-scenting. He digs his claws into his leg to keep his attention on Harris and his lecture – biology, Jackson’s in their physics and chemistry class. The words blur together because he can’t keep his mind off pale pink plush lips. He wants to kiss and ––––

“Dude. You’re bleeding,” hisses Stiles. “It’s getting all over the tile and your eyes are glazed over. Do you even notice the pain and the scent of blood and the dripping sound it makes when it hits the floor? Never mind I know you don’t. Scott.” After not getting a response, Stiles whispers harshly, “Scott!”

Scott jerks out of his daydream. He nearly dents the lab bench.

“Mr. McCall and Mr. Stilinski would you like to tell what is going on over there?”

Everyone turns to look at them.

A dark haired student raises his hand, “Sir. Scott’s bleeding.”

“Well then, McCall. Go to the nurse’s and make sure not to contaminate the classroom. Stilinski clean up.”

“Yes sir.” Scott and Stiles look at each other and sigh.

“Go on bro, get yourself looked after, man? And if you need to go home, text me, yeah?” says Stiles. “I’ll get you notes.”

“Thanks, even if it’s your chicken scratch,” Scott mock grumbles.

“My notes aren’t that bad!” cries Stiles.

“I was just teasing man,” says Scott grinning unrepentantly, until his leg twinges. He winces and bites his lip to stop a whine of pain from erupting from his vocal chords. “Your notes are top grade, discounting Lydia’s, although I think she’s second.”

“Aw how sweet, Scottie,” coos Stiles. “Go along to the nurse’s office to get your booboo treated.”

“That’s sweet of you too.” Scot grimaces. When he tries to get up, it hurts like hell. He’s not healing very well, but then again he’s not letting himself heal either. “Ouch.”

Scott limps to the nurse’s dragging his bloodied leg. There’s blood trailing behind him. He doesn’t envy the custodians. They’re going to have fun cleaning that. Thank god there aren’t that many students milling about. They’d all point and complain and call him a freak or something along those lines. He’s not in the mood for it. He’d probably smash some of their faces in. He bristles.

He nearly walks by the figure dressed in dark leather and dark jeans leaning against the wall across from the nurse’s office. He pauses and turns. It’s Derek Hale. He’s surprised-but-not that Derek is there.

A patented dark scowl is aimed at him. The older werewolf wrinkles his nose. “You’re bleeding.”

“So what if I am?” growls Scott.

Once Stiles knows, Derek knows too. It’s not that much of a surprise to Scott that he’s being slammed once again by Derek Hale into a hard surface – the wall. The older Beta’s forearm digs into Scott’s throat. He huffs in short breaths.

“He’s one of your potential mates. Unless you learn to control yourself, you are not fit for the field. You’ll get us all killed,” hisses Derek. “In case you haven’t noticed stabbing yourself with your claws is _not_ controlling yourself. Even worse, the Alpha is still out there. If he scents this out that boy will get hurt, or even get killed.” Derek’s eyes flash blue, “Do you understand?”

“A-aye,” mutters Scott, backing a step or trying to, anyway. His brain has forgotten that he’s pinned to a wall. Derek is older and stronger and pure-blooded. They’re not evenly matched otherwise he’d take that as a challenge, and fight, but he can’t. “I get it.”

“Good.” Derek presses his arm harder into Scott’s neck and releases him. “Don’t heal too fast. Humans might get suspicious.” He nods towards the end of the hall. It’s Jackson.

Mate. Scott almost loses control and lunges, but he pulls himself back. I’m going to the nurse, get my leg checked out. I’ve got to ask her if I can go to practice, if not I’ll have to hand coach a note. He needs to be away from Jackson for a couple days. Maybe I’ll be able to control myself by the time we have to be in class and on the lacrosse field together. He breathes through his mouth. It prevents some of the scent from clogging up his brain. Or it would have worked if his taste buds weren’t so strong and already magnetized to Jackson’s distinct aroma. He groans, letting his claws stab into the palms of his flesh.

“Thanks for the warning Derek,” Scott says, even though he knows the older werewolf is gone.

Scott turns into the nurse’s office. She clucks at him and asks him questions he can’t answer. She sighs and treats his leg with alcohol and disinfectant cream. She stitches and bandages his leg tight and hands him a note for coach. All the while he hides his bloodied hand from her. When she kicks him out he goes, hands still in his pockets.

“McCall!”

“Jackson.” Scott’s tired and sore and disappointed in himself. He doesn’t want to fight his mate nor his own urges to rut against said mate. “I’m not in the mood. Go bother some other idiot.”

“Oh ho,” crows Jackson, “admitting you’re an idiot now are you? There’s a good boy.”

“Jackson,” snarls Scott, eyes glaring gold. He fists his hands inside his hoodie pockets. He can feel his nails sharpening and lengthening into claws. Great more blood loss.

The jock backs away.

Scott wants to throw up. Mate. Fear. The stench is overwhelming. He wants to fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He wants to lunge and wrap himself around his mate to comfort him with licks, kisses and cuddling. He wants to link their fingers so that he can take his mate out to his bike, so they can go to the beach or buy ice-cream. He wants…He closes his eyes.

“You better be gone when I open my eyes,” he says instead because he can’t do any of those things he wants to do.

Derek and Stiles are right. He’s a masochist and he’s in danger of losing control, and if he’s in danger of losing control the only people who will get hurt is his mate and himself, and maybe Lydia. I’ve got to leave before I hurt him. I can’t and I won’t hurt him.

He decides to go to Deaton. Maybe he can explain what this is. He limps towards his front entrance. Then he remembers his note. He turns back and goes to coach’s classroom where he’s teaching history of all things. He knocks lightly on the door, and enters. He hands coach the note – there’s blood on it.

“You ready to lose co-captaincy?”

“I’m injured sir,” says Scott. He needs time off. He can’t be in the same anywhere with Jackson and not want to – and he can’t do any of those things he wants to do, not if it hurts his mate.

“What’s a bit of pain when we’re going to win? We need you McCall. Where are your guts and competition? Whittemore isn’t enough to hold the team by himself.”

“Fine. I’ll be back for practice.” Scott turns to walk towards the exit.

“McCall. Don’t disappoint.”

“Yes coach,” sighs Scott. God, what am I going to do? He scrubs a hand over his face. He has to get to Deaton.

He can feel the drill of his co-captain’s gaze boring into his back. He hates himself for it, but he has to keep his secret from his mate. It’s safer for him.

He limps all the way to his bike. He leans against her for a moment and forces himself heal. It wouldn’t do for him to bike with a wound in his leg.

It takes close to half an hour before he completely heals, but by then he’s already on his bike riding with his desperation and rage fueling adrenaline. His mate has rejected him more than once these past couple days. He wants to roll over and die, but it’s not an option. Even if Jackson doesn’t acknowledge me as mate, hell he doesn’t even know about this development, protecting mate and mom and Stiles is everything. If my presence can keep them safe, then I can’t and won’t give up. There’s no alternative. He growls, lowly under his breath. His eyes glow red for a moment. And if I die, I’ll take the Alpha with me.

“Deaton! Dr. Deaton!” Scott slams through the doorway.

“Scott!” Alan Deaton’s shock and concern only shows through his voice. His outer appearance is otherwise unflappable and kind as always. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“This can’t wait. I need to talk to you.” Scott pants. He braces his shivering body against a wall. “This is urgent.”

“Come in. Let’s go to the back. Barring any emergencies, there aren’t any appointments today.”

“I found my mate. Herejectedmemultipletimes.” Scott’s panting is growing harsher, his breaths come out high pitched and with a slight whine. “Shit.” He coughs, leaning against the wall. “I think…hic…my asthma…hic…is coming…back.” Scott pants. “Stiles…hic…he said…hic…I’ll…waste away…if…my mate…rejects…me?”

“I’m sorry my friend, he’s right.”

“Is there…anything…?” Scott looks up, body trembling with the lack of oxygen reaching his bloodstream.

“You need to spend time with your mate.”

Scott shakes his head. He bangs the back of his head against the wall. “Hates…me…stupid…hic…I’m so…stupid…”

“Calm down Scott. You need to calm down. Listen to the sound of my voice and to me breathing, okay?”

Scott nods, closing his eyes. He focuses on his boss and friend’s voice and the swish of his lungs. He feels himself begin to calm as his breathing syncs up with his mentor’s. He croaks, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet Scott.” Deaton frowns.

“I have an experimental serum, if you would like to try it. It may kill you or render you impotent.”

“My mate is male, Deaton.” Scott scrubs a hand down his face. “If it kills me at least I tried something, right?” Scott’s smiles bittersweet and lopsided. “I need something to help me survive a little longer so I can take the Alpha down with me.”

“I’ll prepare it,” says Deaton. He rummages around his supplies and comes up with a variety of herbs and some strain of treated Wolfsbane.

Scott watches as Deaton portions and mixes the herbs together, grinding them together in a stone bowl with a pestle. He watches his mentor mix the powder into water and stir. He already knows what’s going to happen next. Deaton pours the mixture into an empty IV bag and hooks the bagged concoction onto a stand. On one of the other prongs, Deaton secures a standard saline drip. Scott shivers and refuses to watch Deaton sterilize and coat one an IV needle with treated Wolfsbane.

“Make a fist for me Scott.” Deaton ties a plastic band around Scott’s arm and flicks his charge’s arm. He locates the vein and, sterilizes it and the surrounding area. He doesn’t give warning and stabs in. It hits the vein perfectly.

Scott breathes a sigh of relief. The hard part is over. His healing kicks in. There wasn’t so much Wolfsbane that it completely threw him into agony, it just slowed his healing a little. His arm is fine with a new addition for medicating his brain chemistry. He watches Deaton screw on the IV cord and fiddle with the dial counter.

“You’ll need to stay for two hours,” says Deaton. “I exchange the saline drip for the medication in half an hour.”

“Fine,” says Scott. “I have to get to Lacrosse practice. My mate…he’s expecting me.”

“Scott…be careful.”

“I will doc. I’ll still be here for another two hours. You can lecture me whatever for that long if you want, while,” says Scott grinning impishly, “you’re making sure I’m not going to die.”

Deaton’s lip twitches and he shakes his head.

Scott’s grin widens. As he watches his mentor leave the room, his grin cracks off his face and shatters on the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts. Mate not want. His instincts scream at him to claw off the IV. He shouldn’t want to survive after rejection. I have to protect them, all of them, even fucking Lydia. None of the mundanes know the truth. If he doesn’t do something Beacon Hills is toast. He has to save them. Maybe…maybe Jackson will look at me with a little less hate? He groans. Who am I kidding? Jackson will never stop hating me now that I seem to be getting on par with him. Mate not hate. He bangs the back of his head against the wall he’s propped up against. What the hell is he going to do?


	3. The Shot

When Scott makes it onto the field everyone is already in position. Good thing Coach hasn’t noticed him just yet.

“McCall! I told you to be here for a reason! I need you in the goal!”

“Yes coach.”

Stiles grimaces and whispers harshly, “You can’t play. You’re supposed to be injured, remember?”

“I healed,” grumbles Scott. Can’t smell mate. Can’t see mate. Shit. Breathe Scott before Stiles flips out. He shakes his head. “It’s just I can barely sense anything.”

“My point, Scottie,” says Stiles. “Maybe you should go home.”

“Can’t mate – mate needs me.” Scott knows he’s grasping at straws but his instincts tell him he needs to be here. He needs to be close to his mate, and he promised coach.

“Scott…” whispers Stiles.

Scott is already moving towards the goal post.

Practice is a blur in the lack of sensation. He is in control, but his reflexes are shot. His ego and his body are bruised by the number of times the ball has hit him. Yes he has caught the majority of the shots made by the opposing team – Jackson’s. Coach really likes to pit them against each other. It’s something to do with recognizing each other’s strategy and something between exorcising and exacerbating their aggression towards each other – but they’ve been aiming at what seems to be his weak leg. They’re not taking him seriously. Jackson’s not taking me seriously. Pft. When has he, unless I’m outwardly kicking his ass?

Mate not serious. His instincts snatch onto the thought like it’s a death sentence, but also musters the strength to hit overdrive in a final attempt to impress his mate. Scott sinks past rationality.

Jackson stares, jaw dropping. McCall is injured and he’s still halfway decent? The ball is passed to him and he throws with the weight of his entire body towards the goal. He eyes nearly pop out of his head.

Scott nearly loses the ball, but twists his body, and manages to catch it in his crosse.

It’s a relief when Coach blows his whistle. Scott’s too sluggish to even lift a finger. As much as he wants to claw off Greenberg’s head for throwing a companionable arm around Jackson he can barely move to do it. It’s a relief to get to the change room. But once there, he can barely keep his eyes off his mate, especially when he’s stripping out of his uniform.

The curves and planes of a toned back and rounded ass mesmerize him. He almost drifts towards his mate, except Stiles elbows him in the gut. He snarls. Everyone turns to stare, but there is no sign of a wild animal. Scott hides his burning face in against his forearms as he braces himself against his locker. What am I going to do? He slams a fist into the locker, watching it dent and hearing the rush of hearts beating faster, as their owners turn towards him. He laughs bitterly. There is nothing he can do.

Scott presses his face – his eyes – into his closed fists. He can feel it building in him. He hiccoughs. A few tears escape.

“Scott. Scottie,” whispers Stiles.

“Go away Stiles,” Scott growls. He hates that Stiles doesn’t really understand, but he doesn’t know how to explain. He doesn’t want to burden his brother and friend. He wants everything to be easy again – when they understood each other.

“Can’t do that. You’re my brother remember?” Stiles’ hands are gentle, soothing when they press into sore tense muscles. “We promised we’d always be there for each other.” Stiles digs a little deeper. “You know? It’s kind of my fault you’re in this funk.”

“I wouldn’t have realized what he meant to me if this hadn’t happened. I need him. I need him so much it hurts.” Scott breathes out reverently. “Everything with Allison is inconsequential compared to this. He will always look at me, but never see me.”

“Like Lydia.” Stiles says it as if that’s the only measure of pain in love. But then again, it’s the only measure of pain in romantic love that he’s experienced. He has no other reference.

“Yeah,” says Scott, quieter than a whisper, “except worse. I’ll _die_ without him.”

“What?” Stiles jumps. “No way! I wasn’t serious when I told you that stuff earlier! He’s…he’s a…a total _bitch_!”

“I know.” Scott turns to look at his best friend and brother. His face is blank – tired. He can’t even muster the energy to tell Stiles not to call his mate bitch.

“Scott!” Stiles’s high-pitched squawk causes everyone to turn towards them even Jackson.

Scott sighs, closing his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Look, now that I know what he is to me I can’t just ignore it. And…I can’t think of life without him at all. I need him.”

“They’re all staring,” hisses Stiles.

“I know.” Scott opens his eyes. He stares straight into his brother and best friend’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have long.”

“Don’t tell me you’re dying right _now_ ,” says Stiles. There’s a sarcastic twitch in his mouth.

Scott wants to punch it off. He doesn’t have the strength, so he takes a breath instead. “Not as long as he still needs me. Besides, doc gave me some meds to stave it off, but it means I won’t be in top form.”

“What?” Stiles cries, forgetting to be quiet.

“The Alpha is out there,” whispers Scott. “I need to protect him. I need to protect you and mom too.”

“He’s your priority.” Stiles voice is flat and his eyes are cold. “You’re _dying_ because of him and you still think about him as if he returns your feelings. He’s a frigid _bitch_. Allison’s better for you at this point. Hell, anyone is better for you than him.”

“I can’t just choose to stop,” whispers Scott. “He smells so good. He smells perfect and beautiful and –” He can’t tell Stiles, everything he knows. There are things he doesn’t want to think about that he found in that scent. “You know wolves mate for life. He’s it for me.”

“Scott you can’t. It’s not binding,” says Stiles. He pauses a moment and continues, “yet.”

“It _is_ , Stiles,” says Scott, flat and quiet. “Even if I survive, I’ll always be living a half-life. I can never be with anyone but him. I don’t plan on it. I’m taking the Alpha down with me.”

“I won’t allow that.” When Stiles puts his mind to something he won’t stop until he gets it or he gets kicked in the ass by failure. This time he’s going to get his friend out of crazy-town so that he’ll live with or without Jackass Whittemore. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.” Scott smiles, slack and exhausted. He blinks. “Stiles, I’m tired.”

Scott closes his eyes and slips onto the germ infested change room floor.

Jackson watches as Stiles hauls his unconscious friend up, and lays him on the benches. He stares at McCall, watching the spaz out of the corner of his eye as he packs everything up.

There’s something compelling about McCall’s face. Even asleep, he looks strong – proud – like one of the kings of Gondor – Aragorn – or something. Yes, Jackson likes LOTR. He’s read the books and found the movies good enough, but he would never admit to that. He also kind of has a tiny crush on Viggo Mortensen.

“What. Are. You. Staring. At.” Stiles hisses.

Jackson flinches back.

“Whatever. If you’re going to stare, you’re going to help me bring Scottie here to my car. I can’t carry everything and I so won’t leave him here to be creeped on _by you_ ,” snaps Stiles.

“I was _not_ staring at McCall. He has nothing to flaunt.” Jackson glares at Stiles.

“Uh-huh. I believe you. But what if I were to drop that tomorrow, hm?” Stiles crosses his arms, as much as he is able with two sports bags tied to his shoulders.

“Nobody’s going to believe you, Stilinski.” Jackson places his hands on his hips.

“I have this.” Stiles waves his phone. On the screen is a picture of Jackson nearly leaning over Scott like he’s about to kiss him, but then again that’s just a trick of angle.

Jackson lunges and misses.

Stiles, though, he’s fast. Thanks to werewolf training with Scott, he’s good at detecting movements that prelude attack and he’s honed his reflexes. It’s good when he can control his body. If only it was all the time. He would make it not only to first line, but also defend himself properly against The Alpha.

“Nope. Come on.”He says, waving the phone.

Jackson resigns himself to having to carry loser McCall and help his dweeb friend.

When Scott wakes up, he’s in his bed. Stiles is sitting at the end of his bed watching him. His mother is cross-legged on his desk chair. He blinks and croaks, “Hi.”

“Don’t ‘hi’ me, mister,” snaps his mother. “You will tell me what happened, right now. Werewolves don’t just pass out do they?”

“We came across some wolfsbane today,” says Stiles.

Scott huffs a breath of relief.

“Do you think it was hunters?” Melissa clenches and unclenches her hands. This is not something that she can fix on her own. She still wants to do something – anything. She can’t stand the thought of her only son being in danger. She’s so afraid to lose him. She shuffles up the bed and places her hand onto of her son’s.

Again. How did she know about that?

Scott bites his lip. He doesn’t want to worry his mother, but he also doesn’t want her to freak out about the mate thing and dying thing just yet. He grasps his mother’s hand and threads his fingers through hers.

“We don’t know yet Mrs. McCall. It was probably an accident. Some strains of Wolfsbane flowers are nice to look at from a human’s perspective. Some kid might have brought it to the lockers to show his friends, before he gave it to the girl, you know?” blurts Stiles. The words almost string together, but that’s okay because Mrs. McCall’s known him for years and years. She understands Stile’s speak. He’s glad for that.

“Alright. Be careful boys,” Melissa looks at her son, smiles sadly. She comes over to the bed, presses a kiss to his forehead and ruffles his hair. “You should rest a little longer then. And call me when something like this happens again.”

When she leaves the room, both boys sigh in relief.

“Thanks for the save,” says Scott, “Why do I smell Jackson?”

“He carried you to my car,” says Stiles, staring at his hands. “I may or may not have done something you wouldn’t like…”

“Really, now?” Scott’s eyes narrow. Even without his supernatural gifts, he can still tackle Stiles. He has been training on his own. “Tell me.”

“I blackmailed him,” says Stiles, watching for his friend and brother’s reaction. There. Score.

Scott’s eyes widen and a second later he frowns.

“What? He was staring at you,” says Stiles, wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s not like you thought he would volunteer, did you?”

“He stared at me…” Scott’s eyes widen then he narrows his eyes at Stiles.

“Yeah like he wanted you or something,” Stiles blurts out. “Why would I lie to you?”

“Or something is definitely right. He can’t want me,” mutters Scott staring down at his hands. “He would never…”

“Scott have some self-confidence.” Stile cheers, “Check your phone, there’s proof although I might have taken it at a rather…uh…artistic angle.” He shoves Scott’s phone right into Scott’s face.

“Right whatever.” Scott pulls his covers over his head. He smiles. Maybe his mate cares about him a little bit. He closes his eyes. There’s the snap of a door closing, just as he drifts off.

When he wakes again, it’s to fingers carding through his hair. He blinks. “Mom?”

There’s no one there. It just him and a dark room.

There’s a trace of a scent. It smells familiar. If only he could remember where and when he last encountered it. He shakes his head. He can’t make the match.

There’s a note.

Take care of my pup.

He tucks the note below his pillow. There’s authority in those words, and in the scent. He rolls back onto his back. He’s halfway asleep when he realizes that he recognizes the scent because it belongs The Alpha. He shudders.

Who is the Alpha’s pup?


	4. The Mirage

It’s 3 AM in the morning. He’s barely slept at all. He keeps thinking about the Alpha’s pup and the stench, of death and decay that clings to the locker room, to his mate.

He hasn’t wanted to think about it. He hasn’t wanted to acknowledge it – the illness that turns his mate’s scent to that of autumn wetness. He shudders. That scent has slowly been sliding into autumn territory – when trees lose their leaves and their leaves fall to the ground trampled, wet and decaying. He fights the urge to rush to the toilet down the hall.

With his senses and instinct dictating that he claim and protect his mate dull, he’s able to think clearly for the first time. He’s noticed the scent of death and decay in the locker room. He’s noticed the scent around Jackson whether he was around Danny or Lydia or anyone else for that matter. But he’s always been too distracted by the scent of spring because his instincts had singled it out. Because he’s young and horny. Because he didn’t stop to think. He hasn’t tried to track the stench of death and decay. His mate is dying, and all he’s ever thought about was mounting him. Well, I haven’t actually thought about it all. But his hormones have been telling him that yes it would be a good idea, now that he is thinking about it.

Except he really can’t. His mate is ill and possibly dying. He’s seen claw marks on the back of Jackson’s neck that was before he imprinted on him. Of the three people who have given him the marks, only one person would have.

It’s time to give Derek a visit.

He shoves his covers away. It droops pitifully to the floor, but he doesn’t notice as he grabs a hoodie, one of Stiles’s red hoodies that he inadvertently left behind. Scott snickers. He pinches the bridge of his nose. It may be a funny*, but now is not the time.

He jumps off his balcony and lets the houses and garden foliage blur as he rushes past. He stops outside the Whittemore house – mansion. It’s a cold intimidating structure – tall white fresco and black iron gates. It would be if Scott wasn’t so good at breaking and entering. But that’s not what he was here to do. He lets the range of his hearing and scenting expand, as he focuses on a single scent and heartbeat. He breathes a sigh of relief. His mate is asleep.

It’s time to go.

He has another errand to run. He turns out of the neighbourhood of the rich and ruthless. He thinks for a moment of his mate. The iron gated castles blur into wild forest. Scott skids to a stop in front of the burnt husk of the Hale house.

“Derek! I know you're here!” Scott tilts his head up and roars. “Derek! I know it was you!”

“Now,” grumbles the older Beta, “what did I do?”

“You clawed my mate! Now he's dying!” screams Scott.

“Your mate,” says Derek, slowly, “is that crude blond who believes he's so very classy, Jackson Whittemore.”

“How dare you insult him?!” snarls Scott.

“Just checking!” Derek glances down at his nails. He looks up. “What happened to Allison being the One?”

Scott lunges towards Derek, who dodges. He snarls, his fingers curl as his human nails are covered in wolf claws. He pulls back an arm, ready to slash Derek's throat or punch him in the face.

There's a howl in the forest.

Scott freezes.

Derek leaps back onto his smoke stained front porch. “You just painted a target on your pretty mate. Congratulations.”

Scott snarls, ready to lunge at Derek again.

“Never said he wasn't physically attractive if that's your type,” purrs Derek, curling against the bannister. Now run along if you want to make sure he's okay.”

“Give me a cure!” Scott lunges again.

“Don't have and don't know any,” says Derek. His eyes narrow and lips curl up sharply, he slinks forward, “except...”

“What? Tell me!” growls Scott, his eyes glow silver. “If he dies I'll have your head.”

“I'll put you down myself,” snaps Derek. “You'll become feral. Now run along if you want your precious mate to be safe. And you wouldn't give him the cure. The Bite is the cure, if it doesn't kill him.”

Scott staggers backward. “No.”

“Am I lying?” hisses Derek, now suddenly in front of Scott, “Listen to my heartbeat.”

“No.” Scott stumbles and lands on his ass. “No. No. No!” He runs. “Please no.”

Scott finds himself back at the Whittemore mansion. He’s crouched on the roof, in a corner next to his mate’s window. He peeks in.

Jackson looks almost angelic when he is asleep. He is laying eyes closed and breathing slow. There’s an absence of the excess hair product that he uses to style his hair. His hair falls over his too angular, but fine boned enough to be near delicate features. He turns to face the window, languid and sensual. His lashes are long and burnished gold dusted with silver. His plush pink lips part. A hand lays open and relaxed against the bed spread almost in invitation. His skin is shot with silver streaks from the moon. The muscles of his back are pliant as he lays half on his front. The only disruption to this heavenly image are the open lacerations in the back of his neck.

The stench of death and decay invades Scott’s nasal cavities and assault his brain. He winces. There’s only so much he can take of that disgusting scent. But the impulse to stay and guard is even stronger. Mate protect. I can stay until an hour before dawn.

He doesn’t sleep.

A wolf howls – The Alpha.

Scott can feel his form shifting. He can’t. He won’t. He can’t stop himself from shifting, but he manages to hone in on his mate’s breathing. He has more control over himself that night at the school. Thank god for Stiles. I haven’t killed anyone and I don’t want to. Except…

His mate’s breathing pattern has changed.

Jackson writhes against his sheets, gasping in short pants. His fingers scrabble at his neck. He whimpers. His eyes shoot open, but they’re glazed over with a silver sheen covering even his pupils. He slips out of bed, letting the sheet slide off his nude body. He presses his hands against the window, and breathes, “Scott.”

Scott shudders. This can’t be happening. Mate. He can smell arousal sliding off his mate in streams. He’s drowning in it. Except he knows it’s not his mate at all. The Alpha…

“Scott.”

“No.” Scott backs over the edge of the roof. He manages to land on his fours. He stares up horrified.

“Scott,” Jackson almost whines, fingers scrabbling against the glass. “Need you.”

Scott climbs back up the side of the house, and he hates himself for it.

“Shush. It’s alright. I promise.”

“Need you,” whines Jackson. “Need you, please. Let me have you. I can be good. I can please you. I’ll do anything for you. Need you. Need you.”

Scott jumps and runs. He doesn’t look back. Those words and that tone drives him crazy the entire time. He makes it back to his house, and climbs into his room through the window. He texts Stiles.

               _There’s a situation. - Scott_

               _There’s always a situation. Need me to come over? – Stiles_

_Not now. Talk about it tomorrow. – Scott_

_You won’t chicken out? – Stiles_

_Both of us need to sleep, especially you. You know caffeine and Adderall will put you on hyper drive. We have Harris tomorrow. – Scott_

_Damn. – Stiles_

Scott smirks slightly and closes his eyes. A moment later, there’s a body on top of his. The scent of spring and autumn assaults his senses – taste and scent. Plush pink lips are pressed against his own, swallowing his oxygen. What the hell? He shoves the body off his own, and rolls over it, arm pressing against its throat.

“Jackson?”

“Scott,” his voice is nothing but a breathy whisper. “Needed you. I came.” He pouts. “You don’t want me?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Need you. Alpha needs you. Bring you to Alpha?”

“What? No!”

Before Scott can say anything else, Jackson is attacking his lips, moaning softly. Damn it. Of all the ways he would end up kissing his rival, his mate, it has to be like this, while he’s getting mindfucked. He isn’t the kind of guy who would take advantage of the person he cares about, so he rubs circles against his mate’s shoulder blade.

He pulls away and presses a kiss to the corner of his mate’s lip. “Wait here.”

Jackson blinks at him, stretching so that his ass flexes. “Okay.”

Scott groans. He goes over to his closet and snatches a belt. Given that his mate is completely or mostly human, the belt should work. He stalks back to the bed.

Jackson licks his lips. “Play?”

“Yes,” says Scott through grinding teeth. He’s going to combust soon. God give me the strength to do the right thing. He wraps his belt around his mate’s wrists.

His alarm radio wakes him up with the latest news of Beacon Hills. There have been more attacks. Derek Hale still hasn’t been caught. He sits up in bed. What the hell? He takes a sniff. Phew. It was just a dream.

Scott goes through the motions, getting ready for his day. His mother is already in the kitchen. She hands him his breakfast, just as she heads out the door. He eats it mechanically. He doesn’t fix himself a snack.

He bikes to school as per usual.

Stiles accosts him in the halls as per usual right before they get to their lockers. “Dude you look like you haven’t slept all night.”

“Remember when I told you about the stench of rot in the locker room?” Scott bites his lip and takes a deep breath. It’s still difficult to accept. Wrong. He shouldn’t be sick. “It’s Jackson.”

“What?” cries Stiles. He flicks his tongue against his teeth. “That actually makes sense. There was black blood on Derek’s hands, but there was some specks of red that day at school. Jackson started wearing a bandage on the back of his neck that day.”

“I talked to Derek,” said Scott quietly.

“Are you crazy?!” shouts Stiles. He hisses, “Every time you talk to Derek you get into a fight.”

“Heh.” Sandwich crumbs spray out of Scott’s mouth. At Stile’s moue of disgust, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “We did.”

“And?” says Stiles, bringing a hand to rest under his chin, as he lifts an eyebrow.

“He said told me if I was so concerned about him, I should try to – well, talk to him and get a look at the marks,” mumbles Scott. “I’m screwed if I do, screwed if I don’t.” He drops his head onto his arms.

“That’s it?” exclaims Stiles, slapping a hand on the table. “You went to get beat up and that’s all you got?”

“Well, he said that I could try healing him with you-know-what,” says Scott.

“Right,” says Stiles. “That means you have to touch him.”

“Yes,” grumbles Scott.

“Great!” cheers Stiles. “How’s your con– Don’t answer that.”

“He’s standing behind me,” says Scott, “isn’t he?”

Stiles tips his head.

“Why is this my life?” Scott slumped onto the table, letting his head bang against it.

“How many brain cells are you looking to murder, hm?” purrs Jackson, poking Scott in the temple. “All of them?”

“What’s it to you?” grumbles Scott. He looks pleadingly up at Stiles, who just watches bemusedly.

“If you kill all of them,” Jackson digs his finger a little harder, “who’s going to tell me what you’ve been doing that makes you so strong?”

Scott gulps. The scent of spring makes him want to bury his face in his mate’s neck, but the stench of death and decay makes him want to throw up. But…his eyes widen. There are belt marks around his mate’s wrists. He gulps, swallowing acid.

“Dude you look constipated,” says Stiles.

“That’s disgusting,” snaps Jackson, stalking away, but not before trailing his finger down Scott’s face. His eyes flash silver for a second.

Scott blinks. It was only a trick of light. There aren’t belt marks around his mate’s wrists. He breathes a sigh of relief.

“You okay?” asks Stiles. “Did that just happen?”

“He called me disgusting,” mumbles Scott. He stares at Stiles and nods lightly.

“Oh my god!” cries Stiles. “You have got to be certifiably insane. He’s a total bitch! That’s when he’s not all silver eyed incubus-like which is really creepy. And even I can smell the pus oozing out of his neck.”

“Don’t,” growls Scott.

“Okay! Chill down.” Stiles puts his hands up in surrender. “Geez. Don’t get all wolfy on me. It’s just me Stiles blathering again.”

Scott rolls his eyes. He knows why his best friend and brother always makes comments like that. It keeps him grounded in their human infested jungle. “Thanks.”

“What for?” Stiles eyes are wide and uncomprehending.

“– for keeping me grounded. You’ve become my new anchor.” Scott leans over and pats Stiles on the back.

“Really? What about-” Stiles taps his chin.

“I tried.” Scott sighs. “We’re too volatile. I really like him –”

“– because he smells good,” says Stiles, rolling his eyes.

“That and he hates me,” says Scott.

“Actually, he wants what you have.” Stiles points at Scott and pokes him in the side where he was bit by the Alpha.

“What?” exclaims Scott.

“He doesn’t know what it is,” says Stiles, “but he wants the you-know-what.”

“He can’t!” shouts Scott, slapping a hand on the table. It dents a little.

“Just because you think it ruined your life,” says Stiles slowly, “doesn’t mean that it’ll ruin his. Although you’re probably right it will.”

“What?” whispers Scott hoarsely, leaning closer to Stiles.

“I mean the chances of him choosing you is pretty high if it happens” says Stiles. “But it is equally high, he might not accept it the way you have and freak the hell out and do something stupid.”

“Are you bringing my hopes up or are you bringing them down?” growls Scott.

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance.” Stiles leans over and squeezes his best friend and brother’s shoulder. “Hang tight.”

“Thanks,” says Scott. What else can he say?

“So how are you going to get him to agree to talk to you?” Stiles leans forward.

“I’ll tell him I can smell his infection,” says Scott.

“He’ll get curious,” says Stiles. “Hell, he might even start putting things together and coming up with the full picture.”

“I have to save him,” growls Scott.

“Fine,” says Stiles leaning back in his chair, balancing on its two hind legs. “If you want to gamble then whatever I say isn’t going to stop you.”

“Stiles, there’s one more thing I need to tell you, in private.” Scott whispers. “Can we go to your Jeep during free?”

“Fine,” says Stiles, spreading his hands. “Fine.”

It takes longer than it should to get to free period. Both Stiles and Scott are jittery by then. They run for Stiles’s Jeep. When they are safely ensconced, Scott locks the doors.

They both know it’s a diversionary tactic.

Stiles stares at Scott. “Well?”

“I went over to his place last night,” whispers Scott. “So I climbed up to his window and he was acting like a – like a – person possessed by an incubus.”

“You mean a horny slut,” says Stiles.

“Stiles,” growls Scott, eyes shifting silver.

“And?” says Stiles, ever the dutiful brother and best friend. He is although also looking for a slim chance that this might ruin the Lydia-hearts-Jackson-hearts-Lydia-back thing.

“So, he pretty much walks up to the window naked,” Scott swallows, “and tells me he needs me. And I ran.” He gulps. “Then I went to bed and dreamed he came up to my room and he tried to…he tried to…” His face burns red and he chokes. “So I tied him up with my belt. Apparently, I was an idiot and I dropped my keys when I ran. I went downstairs and checked. His car was in the driveway. So I took him home and…yeah. The end.”

“What?” Stiles’s eyes are wide and his eyebrows nearly vacation in his buzz cut. “You’re kidding me!”

“I’m not,” sighs Scott. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I saw his wrists there were belt marks.”

“That’s so fucked up,” groans Stiles. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “The Alpha couldn’t get you to kill us so he’s controlling Jackson through the scratch marks. Scratch marks made by Derek.”

“Derek’s not the Alpha.” Scott stares at Stiles willing him to understand.

“Then the Alpha has to be related to him, or something. You said before that the spiral meant vengeance, right? Who has a vendetta against those people who were involved with the fire especially the Argents?” Stiles twiddles with his fork.

“Peter,” whispers Scott, as if the older werewolf can hear him across town or wherever he is, which he probably can.

“Peter as in Peter Hale the unresponsive burn patient at the home?” Stiles frowns. “That’s impossible.”

Scott whimpers, “Who else is there?”

“Oh god!” Stiles slams his fork into the croutons in his Caesar salad. “We have to let Derek know.”

“I know,” Scott slumps, “except he hates me.”

“If the Alpha can control Jackson once, he’ll do it again.” Stiles links his fingers and tucks them under his chin.

Again happens to be chemistry.

They barely sit down in their seats when Scott’s standing outside in the field when he hears the one voice he both loathes and longs to hear calling his name. He’s sure this is another trap. “Scott? Help me!”

“Scott where are you going?” shouts Stiles, as he pants trying to catch up to his brother and friend.

“He’s in trouble,” cries Scott. It doesn’t matter if it’s another trap. He’d do almost anything for his mate possessed or not.

Jackson stood on the roof, swaying as he stared silver eyed down at Scott. “Will you catch me when I fall? Or are you going to leave me like you did last night?”

“What’s going on? Scott?” snaps Stiles

“Stiles, not now,” snarls Scott, eyes glowing gold. “Remember that thing I was going to talk to you about? This has to do with that.” He turns back to his mate and spreads his arms. “I’ll catch you.”

“Liar,” hisses Jackson, his pretty features twist into a mask of hate and rage.

“I’m right here,” says Scott softly, relying on his experience with skittish animals. “If you’re going to jump, I’ll catch you.”

Jackson steps over the roof, falling into Scott’s arms. He shoves the dark haired boy onto the ground, and straddles his lap. He grinds his ass into the taller boy’s groin.

“Stiles _help_!” snaps Scott, his body completely pliant and molded to the ground. He’s watched enough movies to know moving or fighting would only cause –––– accidents.

“O-okay?” Stiles grumbles, “Someone explain to me what’s happening.”

“Just get him off me,” snaps Scott. “Stiles, you’ll have to tie him up.”

“You’ll just leave me again.” Jackson pouts.

“Scott!” whines Stiles, “I’m _not_ touching a pod person. Are you a pod person?”

“Shut up Stiles!” growls Scott, his eyes glow silver. “The Alpha is controlling him. He knows Jackson’s my –”

“Okay! Geez.” Stiles fumbles with his backpack. He always carries chains with him just in case his brother needs them or something. Right now? It’s a case of something, alright. “Shutting up and getting serious. How do we get Jackass back from whatever _this_ is?”

“No idea,” says Scott.

“Scott. Scott.”

Pain erupts in Scott’s cheek. “Ow! What the hell Stiles?” He blinks. “Wasn’t I just outside?”

“You completely zoned out.” Stiles sighs. “Class is over.” He leans closer to Scott and whispers, “you’re not the only one.” He jerks his head towards the jock he calls Jackass or Jacks-baby depending on his mood.

A couple rows away, Lydia yells, “Jackson! Get up!”

Scott winces. Too fucking loud.

“Alright! I’m up woman.” Jackson moves to stand up. He turns back towards Scott. His eyes film over with silver. He licks his lips and winks.

“Holy crap!” yelps Stiles, stumbling back. “Did you just see that?”

“Clearly,” groans Scott. “I clearly didn’t hallucinate last night, but I shared a hallucination with him just now.”

“So, is Jackass secretly an incubus?” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows.

“I hope not,” whispers Scott, his face burns red. “The Alpha is controlling him.”

“Great,” grumbles Stiles, “That’s always nice to know. Y’know your pretty baby only being interested because he’s being hypnotised or something. It’s like a moral dilemma or something. To take advantage or not to take advantage, that is the question.”

“I wouldn’t,” says Scott, “but I’m not so sure about you, if it were Lydia.”

“Scottie, you have absolutely no faith in me.” Stiles frowns. He grins lewdly, “You know me. I’m a motherfucking gentleman.”

“Exactly.” Scott shakes his head and smiles.


	5. The Bait

It’s break. Scott can’t stand being in the same room as Jackson. He can’t handle seeing his mate after another episode. So he and Stiles are sitting in the hall like idiots. He slams the back of his head against the wall. Beside him, Stiles has his eyes closed, breathing deeply in-out. Scott’s surprised when Stiles speaks, “There’s a game tomorrow.”

Scott groans. “What the hell am I going to do?”

“I don’t know. What can you do?” says Stiles.

“I need to see Deaton,” says Scott. “I need to numb my instincts.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! We’re going to get beat down by ––––––”

“Stiles, we have to try this,” whispers Scott, leaning into Stiles. He can’t risk anyone hearing, especially those of the silver eyed variety. “I need to know if he’s responding to my instincts.”

“To your crush,” murmurs Stiles, flipping through his books. Any human walking by would just think they were talking about school work. If they didn’t get too close, well, they’d definitely be confused.

Scott nods. He uncrosses his legs and brings one up, resting an arm over it. He leans back and sighs. He is unaware that a pair of silver filmed pupils track his every move.

A pair of pale pink lips press into a thin line.

“That too,” mutters Scott. The hairs on the back of his neck rise and a chill creeps along his spine. He turns around, just in time to see a familiar head of dark blond hair duck down. “Dang.”

“What?” Stiles watches him. He doesn’t see or feel anything strange, but then again it’s only because his back is to the extraordinary occurrence of Jackson Whittemore watching his best friend.

“He’s watching me.” Scott groans, lowering his head with a thump.

“Yikes. You’ve got your very own paparazzi.” Stiles gesticulates wildly, as he tries to generalize the appearance of camera carrying ultra-morally ambiguous journalists.

“More like a stalker,” mumbles Scott, his face buried in his forearms.

“A very slutty stalker.” Stiles grins manically.

Scott can hear the faux-lechery and amusement in his best friend and brother’s voice. This is just one of those days that he wants more than anything to be able to get away with strangling him. Too bad they’ve been best friends since they were in diapers and Stiles’s dad is the sheriff. “Stiles!” He groans. “Just drop it and help me avoid him _please_.”

“Ooh begging,” coos Stiles. “No problem, man. I’ll cover for you. We better work out some signal. By the way, doesn’t he have class next period? We have a free period right?”

“Yes. Why?” Scott isn’t usually slow on the uptake, but he’s had more sleepless nights this past week than he’s ever had in the past couple years, even with getting into high school. Werewolf metabolism and healing or not, he’s in shit condition. It’s the Alpha business and now his mate is involved too.

“Let’s go see the doc. He might have something that’ll help deter unwanted…uh…attention.”

“Okay.” Scott lifts his head up a bit just in time to meet Jackson’s eyes.

Jackson smiles slow and sultry. He flutters his lashes at Scott. He licks his bottom lip and winks.

Scott makes a choking noise so loud, heads turn from tables a circumferenceof 10 meters, practically the perimeter of the lunch room. He groans. Just great! Another moment of hyper embarrassment. Wonderful. It’s not like life could get any worse. Not two weeks ago he has realized that Jackson douchebag Whittemore smelled like heaven on earth and that meant that he was a potential mate. Less than two weeks later he has already come to realize that the jock no longer registered as a potential, but as a True Mate. Then not less than thirty six hours ago he as realized that the Alpha, Peter fucking Hale was using his mate to seduce him into joining his pack.

That and his heaven is tainted by mortality.

“I am so fucking screwed.” Scott slaps a hand to his forehead. “You _have_ to help me.”

“Sure man. What are brothers for?” Stiles claps a hand over his best friend’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Scott clamps a steel band of a grip around Stiles’s wrist and runs for the door like a bat out of hell, dragging his brother along.

Jackson carefully places his plastic fork down onto his tray. He slides slow and soundless back in his seat letting it tilt back just so, as he slips out soundless and quick. Did Scott really think he can just reject him, when he knows just how much he needs and wants him? He smiles slyly, slinking out the door. He slips gym exit into the field.

Across campus, Scott leads Stiles to the parking lot. They go to Stiles’s Jeep because Scott’s bike can’t handle more than one person and one muscular werewolf is already almost too much for it, especially since he keeps pushing past human limits.

Jackson turns into the drive just as Stiles's Jeep exits. He slips into his Porsche and slots in his keys.  He slides into drive and follows making sure to stay back one car.

They don't notice him.

He follows them to the entrance to the vet's.  The sound of a wolf's howl - his Alpha's - brings him to shift gears.  He spins around and slowly crawls until he reaches the other side of Beacon Hills.  He speeds up to the edges and beyond, slides and stops in a secluded patch of grass.  He slips out of his Porsche, tilting his head to the side.  His senses are too limited by his humanity.

Something butts against his back.  He spins around, laughing short and breathless.

“Alpha!”  He smiles sweet and sunny.

“Come here, pup.”  The Alpha slides upright.  He melts back into handsome human features.

“Alpha.”  Jackson purrs, rubbing his cheek against a shoulder covered in woven sheep curls. His fingers clutch at his Alpha’s sweater.

Clawed fingers pet Jackson's varnished dark blond curls.  “My pretty pup.”

Jackson whimpers. “It hurts.  Why won't he see me?”

“I know puppy.” The Alpha presses Jackson into his chest to give the pup warmth and comfort. It will keep the pup trusting of him, on his side. “He's afraid of me.  You're mine, so he's afraid of you.”

“But I love him.” Jackson buries his face into the Alpha’s shoulder.

“Shush.  It's alright.  He will see you.  I promise.” The Alpha presses a kiss to Jackson’s forehead. “Go on as you were.”

Jackson bites his lower lip and slowly unclenches his fingers from his Alpha’s sweater. He walks quickly to his car as if he will turn back into the safety and comfort of his Alpha. He is not weak or needy. He shan’t want to turn back. He goes back to his Porsche. He has a hand on the door handle and is about to open the door.

“With me.”

Jackson turns around and runs to his Alpha’s side.

“In.”

Jackson nods and slides into the passenger seat of his Alpha’s Maserati. Absently he strokes the leather seat surface. It’s smooth and a little cool. He shivers.

“Cold?”

Jackson nods once, biting his lip. He wants to be good for Alpha. He’s failed to meet his expectations already. He doesn’t want to appear weak, but he also doesn’t want to lie. His eyes widen when Alpha flicks the switch for heat. He doesn’t say anything because he knows it’s not something he should do.

The Alpha pulls out of the woods, driving faster than the designated speed limit. They fly past trees and houses. They’re on the other side of Beacon Hills from where his house is. He’s not afraid. He feels safer with Alpha than he’s ever felt at home.

“Alpha?” Jackson turns to the Alpha and tilts his head.

“I understand.”

Jackson hunches in on himself. He’s never thought he would be easy to figure out, but he feels safe enough with Alpha to let go of his armour. He shivers.

“It’s alright, pup. You will always be safe with me,” the Alpha says as if he’s surprised that he means it.

For that, Jackson is grateful. He’s glad that his Alpha cares about him, even if it’s just a little. He allows his body to stretch and relax. He patters over and wraps his arms around Alpha. It feels a little like coming home, like what a child hugging a parent who loves him always feels. He can’t help but smile. He’s even happier when his Alpha wraps arms around him too.

“Thank you.” Jackson flushes. He’s never said that before and meant it. He does mean it now.

The Alpha presses a kiss to Jackson’s forehead and unwinds his arms, but slides a hand around his charge’s wrist. He pulls the young human-pup with him into his current quarters. It’s not grungy nor is it supremely high class. It’s a warehouse, but it has enough room and furniture to be adequate. There’s a pull-out couch and a feather mattress with cotton sheets and bedding. There’s a portable gas stove, a table and two chairs. Some pots and pans are in cardboard boxes. Some boxes are filled with expensive clothing and bedding. It’s enough.

“Make yourself at home. You can have the couch.” The Alpha closes and chain-locks the door.

For a moment Jackson can’t breathe. It passes too quickly for him to register. He complies, moving quickly to ready his bed. He is exhausted. He lays down and falls asleep quickly.

The Alpha binds the human-pup’s unconscious body, carries it out the door and drops it into the backseat of his Masarati. He flies from his warehouse-hide following the scent of his Beta. He finally stops behind his Beta’s friend’s Jeep, blocking him from exiting his parking spot. He doesn’t realize the human-pup is awake.

Jackson wakes up half-way through the ride. He’s in chains. He stifles a whine of hurt, confusion and discomfort. He knows better than to struggle. Where are we going, he wants to ask Alpha. More than that he wants to know what he’s done wrong. And his head hurts.

What the fuck is he doing letting a mad man cart him around? Not that he’s got a choice in that matter, and he doesn’t remember the past twenty four hours either. They pull into the parking lot just in time for mate and Stilinski to exit the vet’s. Alpha keeps his car at a distance coasting too slowly through the park to be of justice to his car.

Not that Jackson really cares because all he wants and needs is to be with mate – only Alpha has him chained to his seat. He frowns. Why would Alpha keep him from mate? They finally stop in front of Stilinski’s junk of a Jeep.


	6. The Alpha

The moment Stiles pulls into Deaton’s parking lot, Scott flips off his seatbelt and scrambles out the door, even before the car stops.

“Scott!” shouts Stiles. “Are you crazy? Do you know how many people could have seen that?”

Scott slams the door behind him. He’s not in the mood to be lectured. Yes! He knows the risks. All he cares about right now, though, is his mate’s safety. He runs towards Deaton’s office. He has enough sense not to shift and leap or gallop.

“Deaton we have a problem.” Scott yanks open his boss’s door.

The vet looks up from his paper work, but doesn’t speak. He raises a brow waiting for Scott to continue.

“My mate – he’s human, but sometimes he does this thing when he’s close to me…” Scott gulps. He’s afraid of the answer, but he plows on. He has to know how to help. “His eyes become silver. It’s like what happens when my emotions, especially anger get too strong, but he never turns more than that. What does it mean?”

The door clinks opens. Stiles walks in.

Deaton puts down his pen and weaves his fingers together in front of him.

“He is a new and young member of the Alpha's pack or...” Deaton blinks. “That is the most likely option.”

“By the way, you're not telling us something.  What did you mean by ‘ _or’_?” Stiles claps a hand on Scott’s shoulder, glaring at Deaton.

“He could already be a wolf, but something is blocking a full transformation. There are many options.  You may have encountered some already. It could any combination of all factors.” Deaton unlaces his fingers and stands up. He grabs his papers and opens a filing cabinet, putting them inside.

“Some of which you _still_ aren't telling us,” growls Stiles.

“Stiles!” Scott cries. As much as he disapproves with Stiles’s rudeness, he can’t help but admit that it’s pretty impressive for a human to growl like that.

“What?” Stiles’s turns sharply towards his best friend and brother.

“He's my boss.  Don't be rude!” Scott grabs Stiles’s arm.

“Sorry doc.” Stiles takes a breath and snaps his fingers. As much as he hates the doc’s mysterious attitude, he can say that it _is_ a good cerebral exercise. “Wolf's bane and mountain ash.”

“Pack bonds.  Derek said that the Alpha could control me through it.  Obviously that's what happening here.  He's got to be fighting it on some level.” Scott taps his fingers against his leg. It’s something he’s picked up by being best friends and brothers with Stiles. They’ve been together almost since the beginning of time – at least the beginning of their lives.

“That's good,” says Deaton. There’s the barest hint of a smile.

“You actually listen to Derek?” Stiles’s eyes are wide and his eyebrows nearly join the hair that he’s buzzed off.

“What?” Scott snaps at Stiles, offended. “He does know – say helpful things once in a while.”

“It means you're learning,” says Deaton. “Wolves are better in packs. Helps with the psychological stress.”

“Thanks Deaton.” Scott smiles at his boss and waves.

“Have a nice day Scott.  I will do my best to advise you.” Deaton smiles a hint at Scott and turns to Stiles, surveying him with his eyes. “Mr. Stilinski.”

“It's Stiles,” mutters Stiles.

“Stiles!” hisses Scott.

Stiles shrugs.   He walks past Scott out the door. And… “Oh-!”

Scott winces and waves one more time at his boss. He walks out the door, and yelps, “Fuck!”

“Aw god,” groans Stiles. His Jeep is blocked by none other than Alpha Dickhead’s ostentatious car. “You know,” he waves a hand, “what is it with super-villains and their ego? Dude, it makes you so very obvious. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Forgive me, _Stiles_ ,” says the Alpha – Peter, “but I can’t let you do that. You see, I want Scott in my pack.”

“Alpha?”

Scott almost doesn’t recognize his voice. It’s his mate. He sounds so lost. He can’t help the way his heart stops for a second. He knows the Alpha can hear it. He grits his teeth.

“Mate?”

Scott fingers curl and uncurl. He wants more than anything to rip into the Alpha, but there are humans on the scene – Stiles and Jackson. He can’t do anything to risk them.

“Whoa-no. Shit. Scott. Did you just…” Stiles gesticulates wildly with his hands. He waves towards Jackson’s bound body.

“Yeah. I hear and I have eyes.” Scott squeezes his eyes shut. He knows they are glowing silver. “God, why is this my life?”

“Dunno, but I think we should get back inside. Doc Deaton seems to be a pretty swell guy. It’s safe in there. You’ve never wolfed out there right?” babbles Stiles.

“No…” hisses Scott, keeping his eyes on the Alpha.

The Alpha moves and covers the window, hiding his captive from view.

“No?” cries Stiles, “Obviously he has the place protected.”

“Then you should go back.” Scott grinds his teeth together.

“What about you?”

“I’ll deal.” Scott glares.

“Actually, I think it’s safer to just get outta here. Y’know, go to the mall or something where there’s like a lot of people?”

The Alpha yanks his own car door open and rips Jackson out of the passenger seat, still bound in chains and throws him right into Stiles knocking him over.

Scott turns towards the sound and watches in frozen horror as his mate sails into the air. He shifts just as his mate crashes into his best friend and brother. He is too slow.

The Alpha lunges, growling.

“Scott!” cries Stiles. “Watch out!”

Scott turns back just in time to be bowled over and pinned under the Alpha. Red glowing eyes glare down at him from too beautiful, icy features.

“Fuck.” Scott winces. His ribs hurt – they’re broken and already healing. He doesn’t make a sound. There’s no need to freak Stiles, and maybe Jackson, out.

“That’s right, boy. Join my pack or I will kill them.”

“No you won’t.” Scott grunts shoving at the Alpha with all his strength, but his enemy is stronger, older and a purebred. “Jackson’s most likely a born wolf. And Stiles…Stiles is good at what he does. You need him especially if you’re Peter Hale.”

“What makes you think I am?”

“Derek Hale is a Werewolf. He said to become Alpha a Beta would have to kill an Alpha. Laura Hale is dead. She was the last Alpha Beacon Hills had before she died. Peter Hale is Werewolf of the same pack. It was either you or the Hunters who killed her, but they only came after she died. You had to have killed her and ascended.”

“You still can’t prove if I am Peter Hale.”

“Stiles?” Scott turns his head and looks at Stiles out of the corner of his eyes. He knows better than to bare his neck to the Alpha. It’s a sign of submission. Both Derek and Stiles have drilled it into his head.

“I looked you up. And you were in your human skin. Your face is a perfect match.” Stiles wheezes. “Get off me, Jerkson. Ow. Think my knee is busted.”

“Mate?”

“Fuck this shit!” Stiles wriggles around until he’s free. He drags Jackson with him to his Jeep. He pulls Jackson into the car.

The Alpha turns and stares at them his eyes glowing red.

Scott twists his forearms, trying to dislodge the Alpha and shoves up with his knees. The Alpha doesn’t budge but roars down at him. He glares and growls back. He will not submit. He hears the tapping of the keys from Stiles’s phone. He just has to keep the Alpha distracted.

He pushes, straining his muscles. He can feel the pressure in his back and in his arms and legs. He wants to finally succeed in pushing the Alpha off, but he can’t. Just when he’s about to give up, he hears Dr. Deaton say, “Scott hold your breath.”

He does just as the spray descends. It’s Mountain Ash with pepper spray. Its mist sails over Scott’s head into The Alpha’s face.

The Alpha roars and inhales a large quantity of it. He loses his wolf form and melts back into a man. He’s is Peter Hale, and he’s fighting to keep his grip on his Beta, using his now human strength to pin Scott down with his body and both hands to wrap around Beta’s throat, even as he coughs to rid himself of the Mountain Ash clogging his throat and lungs.

Scott coughs and shoves up. He’s also fighting to keep breathing. He blacks out for a second. Peter Hale releases him. He coughs again relishing the Oxygen replenishing his aching lungs.

“Are you alright?” Stiles is standing over him with his mate unchained. His eyes are still glowing silver. Scott can smell Dr. Deaton still around, setting up medical equipment.

“Yeah. Could you give me a hand?” Scott rubs his throat. It’s bruised, inside and out.

“Mind if I take a look?” It’s Dr. Deaton, who’s coming into his line of vision.

“Yeah.” Scott nods and winces at the pain of his neck and his ribs.

The vet shines his penlight into Scott’s eyes and open mouth. He presses fingers as gently as he can into the sores on his patient’s throat.

Scott winces.

“You’re healing very nicely. You ought to be fine tomorrow. For tonight we’re going to put your neck in a brace and wrap your ribs up. Mr. Stilinski, will be so kind as to help me bring Scott upright?”

Stiles nods within Scott’s field of vision. He sighs, relieved. Thank god his best friend and brother isn’t about to make a sarcastic quip. He’s not sure he can handle the stress in this situation.

Stiles grabs his best friend and brother’s arms, pulling up slowly, while Deaton supports his head and back, pushing up just as slowly.

It’s slow going. Scott winces in pain the entire time. He sighs a breath of relief when he’s finally upright. Breathing hurts too, but it’s manageable. He wishes he can still metabolize ibuprofen.

“You will have to eat only soft foods for tonight.” Dr. Deaton states, staring at Stiles. “Make sure he does that and if he still needs that tomorrow make sure he has that too, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Aye captain.” Stiles salutes the vet, grinning lopsidedly.

“Okay,” croaks Scott. “Is there anything you can do for my mate?”

“I will need to do his blood work. I need to ask you for consent, as he is incapable and his Alpha is unfit.” Deaton looks Scott in the eye. “Are you ready for this responsibility?”

“Yes.” Scott winces when his throat seems to rip itself apart. What else can he do?

“Good. I am going to have ask you to hold him. He may be skittish around me, given that I did attack his Alpha.”

“Mate? Alpha? No!” shrieks Jackson trying to get away from Deaton and his needle.

Scott wraps his arms around his mate, trying to keep him still. The muscles in his neck scream in pain, but he ignores it. This is for his mate. He’d do anything for him. He hums softly.

Jackson whimpers when the needle pierces his arm. He buries his face in his mate’s chest, against his chest, so he can hear the vibrations of his humming and the beat of his heart. This is where he is safest. He doesn’t trust Alpha anymore. Not after what he did to him and to mate. Mate. Safe. Home. Love.


	7. The Rescue/Refuge

Scott watches as Dr. Deaton hauls the unconscious Alpha – Peter Hale – into his office and clinic. He wants to ask what his boss is going to do with the older murderous pureblood Werewolf, but he has other priorities, like his beautiful mate, who looks so sad and broken. He pulls his mate into his lap, laying his mate’s head against his chest. He cards fingers through his mate’s hair soothingly. He shares a look with Stiles. It’s wrong for Jackson to be so docile.

This broken doll isn’t – shouldn’t be – his mate.

He shudders. He wishes he knew how to put his mate back together, but there’s no manual. He’s going to have to ask Dr. Deaton for help again. He sighs. When will he be able to protect himself and the people he cares about without begging for help?

“Scott, you okay?”

Scott looks up, blinks and nods slowly, as if it’s painful to cover the truth. He isn’t okay. He’s just been placed in the position where any defence or attack he wants to make against the Alpha will lead to his mate getting hurt. His mate _is_ hurt. He doesn’t know what to do to make his mate feel better or to make things right.

Stiles is biting his bottom lip. He doesn’t like that his brother and best friend is upset, but he doesn’t know what to do. It scares the shit out of him because he’s used to having all the answers. He lets out a shaky breath. “Scott. Scotty, you can tell me anything. I’ll try my best to make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to feel better. I just want my mate to be himself again.” Scott buries his face in his hands, and groans.

“Is this so bad? He isn’t a snarky asshole right now.” Stiles puts his hand on Scott’s shoulder.

“What part of not being himself do you not understand? I love him the way he was!” Scott snaps at his friend and brother’s hand.

Stiles clutches his hand to his chest for a moment, then brings his hands up in surrender. “Chill down, Scott. I just wanted to say that there are good things about this situation too.”

“Stiles you selfish bastard,” snarls Scott. “You just don’t care what happens to him do you? He may put you down and be a general cranky douchebag, but he’s still a human being. You can’t just put him in a box and dump it somewhere. I’m taking him home.”

“Where? His place? Can he even take care of himself?” Stiles throws his arms outward. He frowns and glares at Scott, as if to say this is your responsibility, fix it.

Scott’s eyes are large and dilated. His instincts kick into overdrive. Protect. Provide. Mate. “Stiles, just – just stop. I’m taking him back to my place.”

“What are you going to tell your mom?” Stiles runs hand over his buzzed hair. It’s growing long again.

“The truth.” Scott. He adjusts his embrace around his mate, shifting him to a side position or bride’s carry. He knows there’s no other way. He stands up slowly. He doesn’t want to jar his mate, who’s falling asleep.

“Alright.” Stiles takes a deep breath. “I’ll drive you back.”

“No.” Scott turns and stalks towards his bike.

“Look. You’re not going to be able to bike, if you can’t be present enough to ensure if he doesn’t fall off the back of your bike.” Stiles pokes Scott in the chest.

Scott bristles.

“And you’re right I am being an ass. I just…I never really liked him – hate him even. And the feeling has always been mutual. You? He’s always tolerated, maybe even…” Stiles’s eyes widen. “Never mind, that’s not relevant right now. I’m sorry Scotty. I should be supportive of you, even if I don’t like him.”

“Fine.” Scott stalks towards Stiles’s Jeep. He taps his foot waiting for Stiles to open the door. When he does, he gives his oldest friend and brother a tired smile. He gently lowers his mate onto the seat and presses a kiss to his forehead. He has to slowly untangle himself because every time he tries to slip away from his sleeping mate, his mate pulls him closer.

There’s a buzzing sound behind him. Scott turns to see Stiles standing there with his phone. He growls.

“Relax dude. I’m not going to use them to blackmail you. I sent the pics to you.”

“Fine.” Scott closes the door as softly as he can. He heads back to this bike and hooks it over the top of Stile’s Jeep, tying it down. He climbs into the back next to his mate. “Let’s go.”

Scott and Stiles spend the drive in silence.

Scott watches his mate, unable to keep his eyes off him. His mate looks so vulnerable in his sleep. He can’t help, but link their fingers, as if that will keep his mate safe and unable to drift away. He leans over to press a kiss to his mate’s forehead.

Jackson shifts until his body is tucked against Scott instead of leaning back against the seat.

When they get back to Scott’s place, he reluctantly lets go of his mate, and brings his bike into the garage.

In the garage, Scott is hit by the thought that his mate could revert back to his usual self because of the distance between him and the Alpha – Scott still can’t bring himself to call the Alpha Peter. It’s both easier and harder. Peter is a very human name. He takes a deep calming breath and walks back to the Jeep. He gently unbuckles his mate and carries him into the house.

Stiles is already inside. The cushions from the sofa are piled on the couch. There’s a pillow on the couch and the fleece blanket is already spread over it, with a corner untucked.

Scott lays his mate on the sofa and tucks the fleece blanket around him. He presses a kiss to his mate’s forehead. He lingers. He purrs lowly. His mate is covered in his scent now and the scent of his territory.


	8. The Talk

Jackson’s head pounds. He snuggles in closer to the warmth surrounding him. He wants to go back to sleep so that his brain will stop trying to commit suicide, or rather that he would not notice its attempts. It also helps that this is the warmest he’s been in a very long time, almost since forever. He burrows as close as he can. He snuffles softly, waking on what he thinks is a sofa.

It’s dark. His eyes adjust. There’s a thin line of light spilling into the room from behind his head. He blinks. Where?

This is isn’t his house, much less his bedroom – that has never been –––– He’s lying, wrapped in a fleece blanket, on a firm couch with soft cotton fabric. The scent of summer – musk, fern and fauna, and –––– there’s something obscuring the rest – antiseptic – skims against his nasal receptors and stings. It smells familiar. Where has he smelled it before?

He hears clinking of dishes. The light spills from that direction. It has to be the kitchen.

The last thing he remembers is…McCall’s stellar performance at lacrosse when he was supposed to be injured.

The lights flick on. “Hey Scott. Sleeping beauty’s up.”

Jackson’s retina burns. His head hurts like a bitch mauled his brain. He doesn’t give any indication that it hurts like hell. I’m not weak. I can handle this. Stilinski’s annoying face and voice makes things worse. He wants him to go away.

“Stilinski,” Jackson growls, injecting as much venom as he can into his voice. He doesn’t need to strain to find it. His head hurts like a Hell’s mouth opened there.

“Hey Jackass. Back to douchebag already. I see.” Stiles smiles impishly. “You passed out, so we took you back to Scott’s place. We don’t know where you live. Besides, we didn’t want to be called in for breaking into your place wherever that is.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to steal your father’s files.” Jackson glares at Stiles daring him to deny what they both knew to be the truth. The pain in his head doesn’t lessen.

“Rude.” Stiles grins unrepentantly.

“But not untrue.” Jackson kicks up his feet and places them on the coffee table. There is no way he will let the idiot get the drop on him.

“Touché. Aaand ruder.” Stiles taps Jackson’s feet with his hand. “Take your feet off the coffee table.”

Scott walks into the room. The scent of pain punches him in the gut. He grimaces. He knows that his mate is only going to take that as animosity. “Stiles, sit down. Jackson just relax, alright? I’m not going to ruin your reputation or kill you and throw you into the woods.”

“Ooh that last one’s a good one.” Stiles grins.

“McCall, what am I doing here?” Jackson stands up and turns his glare onto his rival, who he both seems to hate and secretly admires – so secretly that he usually denies it. He head still aches. It’s a little better.

“Look it’s a long story, so just try to relax and I’ll try to explain, okay?” Scott wipes a hand down his face. He sits down on the chair adjacent to the couch. He crosses his right leg over his left, ankle to knee.

“Fine.” Jackson sits back down. He spreads his legs and sprawls back, closing his eyes.

Scott can’t help himself, but look. He wonders what it will be like to kneel between his mate’s legs and –––– He’s pulled out of his reverie when he feels a pinch on his arm. His eyes flash gold. “Ack.”

Scott glares at Stiles, who grins back at him, and nods towards Jackson.

Scott breathes a sigh of relief. His mate hasn’t seen his eyes. He also needs to work on his control, especially when it’s so unfocused around his mate. Back to business. “Right. Stiles gave you the Cliffsnotes edition. You passed out and we brought you here. Thing is, I need to know how much you remember.”

“You being the star at lacrosse as per usual.” Jackson’s lips twist into a brittle scowl.

Scott winces at the bitterness he hears, smells and tastes. It’s an invisible cloak that clings to his mate’s skin. He takes a breath and it chokes him. He gasps for breath.

Stiles throws him his inhaler. He breathes through it. He’s glad the trick works a second time. “Thanks.”

Stiles nods. He’d been hoping it would work and keeps all his fingers and toes crossed for luck. He breathes a sigh of relief. Thank god. He doesn’t know what he will do if Scott either asphyxiates or loses control and wolfs out. He doesn’t want to think about what it might mean for him and Jerkass.

Scott leans forward and keeps his mate’s gaze. He has to get his mate to accept that he is telling the truth. This is not about asserting his dominance, although it is something that is a semi-coherent thought at the back of his mind. “You know about the animal attacks right? Doc Deaton keeps saying that it’s a cheetah, but that’s not true. It was a wolf.”

“Wolves aren’t common to Beacon Hills.” Jackson narrows his eyes. “Everyone knows. Did you not get the memo?”

“They are here in Beacon Hills.” Scott takes a breath. “You wanted to know what kind of quote juice unquote I was taking? Well it isn’t any sort of drug. It’s more of a virus – Petro-vasia - that results in lycanthropy or becoming a werewolf.”

“I-I don’t believe you.” Jackson’s shoulders and neck tremble.

“Kind of hard not to, Scotty, you might as well just show him.” Stiles nudges Scott on the shoulder.

Scott sighs. He lets his claws grow out and his fangs elongate. His hair and skeletal structure shifts. He doesn’t wince in pain as much as he did when he first shifted. He’s used to it by now. The scent of fear hits him like brick wall. He flinches. Mate scared.

Jackson crawls backwards up the couch, and nearly loses his balance. He would have fallen to the ground if t-that th-thing – werewolf – McCall hadn’t grabbed his arm. He can’t help but notice that the wickedly sharp claws never so much as break his skin. So he lets himself be pulled into a seated position. He shudders and makes sure is as far away from McCall as possible.

He takes a breath and pulls on his cool façade. “So you proved that your little theory is true, now what? When are you going to tell me what I’m doing here?”

“The Alpha, Peter Hale’s been controlling you through Derek’s scratch marks.” Scott’s eyebrows crease and his lips twist downwards. “He’s Derek’s Alpha. He was mine. I rejected him and his pack. Right now? I’m an Omega, a lone wolf.”

“Wait.” Jackson reaches up with his hand to touch the back of his neck. “Scratch marks?”

“You remember don’t you?” Scott inches forward. “I checked it for infection and cleaned it out of Wolf’s Bane residue. You probably haven’t been sleeping well and hallucinating during the day because of it, right?”

Jackson presses his lips together.

“He also decided not to get back together with Allison because she comes from a family of Hunters who kill Werewolves.” Stiles gestures towards the nightscape through the window. “Some of them have a code, some don’t, so welcome to the life of a teenage werewolf and his friends or acquaintances whichever you prefer.”

“Why didn’t…the Alpha attack you?” Jackson’s limbs tremble, almost like he’s fighting not to fold in on himself.

Scott can smell the fear diffusing through his mate’s pores. He has to dig his claws into his hands to prevent himself from leaping off his seat to wrap his arms around his mate. Protect. Cherish. The urge to comfort his mate doesn’t abate, but the pain keeps his rational mind awake and animal instinct at bay. He takes a shuddering breath. It increases the amount of fear particles jamming his nasal receptors.

“He’s more interested in Scotty. I’m just ‘lil ole’ me – spastic human.” Stiles flails a bit. “Besides, he asked me to accept the Bite once, I said no. And I prepared for shit going down.” Stiles whips off his plaid shirt. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt underneath, but it’s strapped down by layers of what looks like bags of Wolfsbane and Mountain Ash. “He attacks and I pierce these, he’ll run like the hounds of hell are after him. Theoretically, anyway.”

“You’re avoiding the question, McCall.” Jackson glares. “Why me?”

Scott shrugs, he says “He called you his pup. We think your biological parents are werewolves, probably related to the Hale pack.”

It’s not the whole truth, but it’ll do.

Jackson nods, sharp and jerky.

Scott breathes a sigh of relief. His secret is safe.


	9. The Smartie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 is still in the works for amendment. I thought it would be nice to have it ready for 10:00 PM, however that is not possible at the moment.

School is the same as it has always been. If Scott seems a little protective of his mate after the Incident, his best friend and brother doesn’t complain. For that and the warnings that Stiles gives when he thinks he’s going overboard, he’s grateful.

Scott, on his part, has gotten better at controlling himself around his mate. He and Stiles have commandeered the fleece blanket, imbued with his mate’s scent, as part of his training in control. He finds himself reacting less like a perpetually jealous horny idiot. Jealous, not envious. His instincts have already decided that Jackson is his, not Lydia’s or anyone else’s. He still covets. Of course he does. It’s thanks to Stiles he hasn’t made an asshole of himself. By asshole, he means, grabbing Jackson by the collar of his expensive shirts and devouring his mouth and neck in front of Lydia, preferably in front of the entire school, though if that’s not possible in front of the Lacrosse team.

He’s also given up on censoring some of his more…perverted thoughts. He, expending too much energy controlling his body’s reactions to his mate, he can’t spare much to censor his thoughts. So yes he’s a hot blooded teenage male Werewolf and that makes him a horn dog. Well sort of. Lupus Canis is a canine after all.

He leans against his locker, watching. Lately it seems like that’s all he can do. He sighs.

“Hey man. How are you?”

Scott turns to see his best friend and brother walking towards him. He presses the heel of his hand to his temples. “Ugh. Shitty.” He closes his eyes and lets his head fall forward against his locker. “I miss him.”

“You had him in your arms once. Just once. It wasn’t even anything romantic. It was just you carrying an unconscious person.” Stiles narrows his eyes. “It shouldn’t have affected you that much!”

“It was him. And that’s all that matters.” Scott bangs his forehead against his locker door.

“Whatever you say dude.” Stiles sidles up beside his friend and pats his back. “I still think you’re putting too much stock where there isn’t any value.”

“Shut up Stiles. You wouldn’t understand.” Scott straightens. His mate is just walking in from the parking lot. Already the congress of ravens – admirers – dive in for the kill.

Jackson’s eyes hone onto his rival cum hero apparent if saving him from a non-existent supernatural creature’s clutches was a real thing. He glares. It isn’t just for appearances. The other boy has always been able to get under his skin. He wishes he didn’t know why. I hate him and his perfect smile. I want – Fucking hell! I don’t. I really don’t.

Scott loses his ability to breathe. His mate is so beautiful. He wants more than anything to cut his way through the unkindness.

“Then explain.” Stiles taps Scott on the shoulder.

“Later.” Scott yanks his gaze away from his mate and closes his eyes.

“Fine.” Stiles slams his locker shut. He looks pointedly at his brother and friend. “Let’s go.”

Scott shuts his locker door with much more finesse. He’s broken his before and doesn’t want that to happen again. He sighs, shouldering his back pack and his emotional turmoil.

It’s Harris’s class again.

Scott hates the bastard – has always hated him. It was his snide comments about Stiles that puts him on edge. Now? It’s not just his treatment of Stiles, his obvious interest in _his_ Jacks nearly pushes him to the point of shifting. How _dare_ he touch Jacks? The idiot obviously has a death wish. He growls lowly under his throat.

Stiles watches Scott through the corner of his eyes and sighs. Scott’s always had a problem with Harris. He flicks his eyes over to where Harris is hovering near Jerkson. Great. He scrubs a hand over his eyes and turns back to his textbook, highlighting relevant information. And no! He doesn’t high light his entire book thank you!

He bites his bottom lip, watching Scott. He breathes a sigh of relief when Scott doesn’t shift and Harris walks back to the front of the room. He turns back to his books. He doesn’t need to look to know that Scott isn’t paying attention.

Scott too busy trying to keep control over his temper and shift. He nearly snarls at Harris, when he says “McCall, name the main points of Hesse’s Law of Summation.”

Instead, he grumbles the answer, fingers curled into fists and claws digging into his palms.

Stiles stares at him out of the corner of his eyes. Scott’s average has been dropping for a while. Why is it that he’s suddenly ready for each and every one of Harris’s hits? He smacks his forehead with his hand. Of course! Scottie’s in love. Not only would it make himself look better, but it’s also a wolf thing. Provide and protect. Intelligence is a _thing_ , a definite thing, especially among human society. But then he’s not going to be anywhere near Lydia’s league.

Although…

As it turns out, Chemistry and Biology are not in Lydia’s strengths. Scott though…he outpaces her by so much that she turns and glares at him. He smiles sweetly at her and waves. The moment she turns around, he smirks at Stiles, who rolls his eyes. Seriously. First it was trying to impress Allison, now it’s Jerkson. And he’s putting hell of a lot more effort into it. At least Melissa will be happy that her baby boy’s not failing all his classes and possibly acing a few.

“Whew. Never knew you were a Smartie!” Stiles sings, flailing just a little bit.

“I’m not made of chocolate and coated in low doses of poison,” Scott grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Woah. What?” Stiles’s eyes widen.

“Pigment – poison.” Scott sighs, combing a hand through his hair.

“Have you always been this smart?” Stiles whirls around and peers diligently into his friend and brother’s eyes. “You’re not a pod person, right?”

“Yes!” Scott snaps. His widens his stride. “I have always been this smart or whatever.”

“Then why hide?” Stiles attempts to catch up and he does. It’s not like Scott would actually leave him in the dust, even if he was mad.

“You know why.” Scott continues to walk at the increased speed.

“Fucking Rafael.” Stiles growls.

Scott nods sharply. “Don’t say his name.”

“Fine.” Stiles bites his lip. “Why show it now?”

“You know why.” Scott glances surreptitiously at his mate.

“Your pretty boy.” Stiles groans.

“Yeah.” Scott let’s his head fall forward. “He’s been glaring at me though.”

“Hey. It’ll be okay.” Stiles squeezes his best friend and brother’s shoulder. He knows better than to say that Jerkson’s glaring is caused by Scott’s upshowing of Lydia’s status as one of the school’s and Beacon Hills’ intelligentsia. He turns for the caff. “Let’s grab some grub.”

“Sure,” Scott lumbers after his friend.

They wait in line for what seems like hours, but only ten minutes. They pay for their “grub” (it is grubby!), drop their trays off and bring their food out onto the field. Scott climbs up the bleachers all the way to the top and Stiles follows.

“So, you’re going to tell me what’s going on in fluffy head of yours?” Stiles stares eyes wide and guileless or at least is doing a bang up job at making the impression of guilelessness.

“First, I’m Smartie, now I’m fluffy? I don’t get you Stiles.” Scott shakes his head. His bites his bottom lip, trying to stop a smile from stretching from cheek to cheek. His best friend and brother has always, heck indefinitely, been able to put him back in a good mood.

Stiles stares at Scott. “Stop avoiding the question. And if you really must know, they are these little states that you fluctuate between. But they all have to do with your pretty Jacks.”

“Yeah. Jackson’s just…he’s so beautiful, you know?” Scott actually hopes his best friend and brother _doesn’t_ know. He’s mine. But he needs to get his point across.

“Physically, he’s a hot piece of ass. His personality is shit.” Stiles chews on his grub whatever it is.

“Don’t objectify him.” Scott glares, before he attacks his food viciously. “That’s his defense mechanism.”

“Still the largest part of his personality.” Stiles chews and swallows another forkful of something. “It’s unattractive as hell.”

“I want to be a part of his life – any part.” Scott leans back.

“You already are his rival and co-captain of the lacrosse team.” Stiles stabs his fork in the air and specks of grub fly in the air. “What more can you want?”

“That’s not enough anymore. I want to be his friend, his lover…I just want him.” Scott scrubs a hand down his face. “I need him. He’s everything.”

Stiles pats his brother and friend on the back.

“You’re not getting it.” Scott turns to look at Stiles, his eyes are large, and his lips are turned down.

“Yeah. I’m not getting it. You better explain this properly.” Stiles puts his fork down on his plate, and folds his hands in his lap.

“Okay.” Scott takes a deep breath. “Have you ever needed something you couldn’t live without?”

“Um…no?” Stiles’s eyes turn up to the sky. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Well, there you go!” Scott cries, throwing his arms out. “That’s what he is to me. He’s like the air I breathe. I just need.”

“Wait.” Stiles frowns. “You said it’s not enough anymore. Are you admitting to having had a crush on Jackass Whittemore before all this shit?”

“I think I might have cared about him before, but I wouldn’t have called it a crush…” Scott rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes. “I mean, he _is_ beautiful, but I only saw him on the surface. He’s really good at reflecting people’s expectations of him back at them. I think – I know it’s because he wants to belong, but what he really needs is love.”

“Scott. You are so in over your head.” Stiles shakes his head.

“I think we’ve already established that.” Scott leans back against the bleachers.

Stiles snaps his fingers in one of those aha moment that are guaranteed to get both himself and Scott into trouble. “You need a makeover.”

Scott has learned to hate that motion over the years. He sits up, eyes wide. “What?”

“You do.” Stiles canvases Scott’s body with his eyes. “You need help, like a lot of help.” He taps his chin. “You’re saving up for a dirt bike right?”

“Yes?” Scott says, even though he has already decided that he doesn’t want to know.

“Well,” Stiles’s eyes laser into his best friend and brother’s, “do you have the funds?”

Scott flinches. “Won’t he just take it as another challenge?”

“Well, he probably will, but he’ll look at you a little longer because you are going to lose the hoodie.” Stiles grins. “Where’s your inner risk taker?”

“Uh huh. The only risk taker I see around here is you.” Scott glares. “I can remember all the shit you put me through. Exhibit A – being a werewolf bites.”

“Aw! I’m hurt, Scottie!” Stiles presses a hand against his breast, “I gave you the chance to find true love.”

“Seriously, Stiles?” Scott groans, thumping his head against the bleachers. “My one true love hates the hell out of me.”

“Show off your body. You are going to start wearing t-shirts – navy – and they’ve got to be tighter. You can wear the size you always have and that’s because you’re putting on more muscle. You need tighter jeans in the crotch area and legs, definitely the legs. You need to show off your assets. I think if pretty Jacks,” Stiles mimes retching, “were the type, he’d definitely be into a guy – a man – who’s stronger than him. You want him? You need to be that man.”

Scott stares.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Stiles frowns, the corners of his eyes narrow.

“Are you…” Scott bites his top lip and stares a little more.

“Gay?” Stiles shrugs. “Metrosexual’s in right now. I’m bi. Did some research. Thought about fitting it into my ten year plan. But I’m just not that guy. Besides, he’s kind of a twink. You,” Stiles pokes his almost brother in the chest, “however, need help. So I’m going to give it to you.”

“Okay.” Scott nods. Thank god he doesn’t have to do this himself. He’s always been the kind of guy who just throws on whatever he has. Heck. He still shops with his mom, even if he pays for his own clothes. He refuses to be embarrassed by that.


	10. The Chase I

Scott is glad for his Stiles’s intervention, when he walks into school early. It might become what Stiles calls a thing. Scott never fails to be early on days when there’s practice after classes because his mate tends to be early on days before practice.

Scott parks his dirt bike next to his mate’s black Porsche.

“McCall.” Jackson steps out of his car fluid as per usual.

Scott can’t help but gape. But he has to keep his cool. He doesn’t want to give himself away so easily. Besides, his mate isn’t the kind of person to take him seriously if he can’t handle himself.

“Jackson.”

“What are you doing here?” Jackson glares, and surreptitiously eyes his rival up and down for about a second. He goes back to glaring.

“I go to school here.” Scott can’t resist taking the bait. How else am I going to get to talk to him? He can hear the spike of his mate’s heartbeat – anger. He sighs. He wishes he knew how to break the cycle of antagonism between them without getting looked at like he’s a freak. Coward. Not brave. Not good for mate. Some part of him whimpers. It’s all in my head. I really should stop being such an idiot and a coward.

“Look. I don’t want to make things worse between us.” Scott rolls his shoulders back. “I think we should just learn to be civil to each other…at least. It’ll make playing on the field easier right?”

“It’s not fun if it’s easy.” Jackson holds Scott’s gaze for more than a second and let’s his eyes rake down Scott’s body. He licks his lips. His eyes never glow silver.

Scott stares after his mate. What the hell just happened?

There is, however, a glimmer of silver around his mate’s irises, but nothing more. He is sure now that his mate is a wolf with his powers being suppressed by something.

Focus. He can’t help but gape at the curve of his hips as they sway in front of him. Jacks can’t be doing that on purpose, can he? No way in hell would he ever show any interest in me!

“Evidence to the contrary my friend.” Stiles claps a hand to his best friend and brother’s shoulder.

“I did not just say that out loud.” Scott slaps a hand to his forehead. Moron. What must everyone think of him now? He glances surreptitiously around the hallway. No one else seems to have noticed. Thank god.

“You did.” The words are whispered. He can separate that voice from any throng of people. He turns and silver ringed eyes bore right into him. Scott can’t help but gawp like an idiot. His mate winks at him. Scott can feel his own heartbeat stutter.

“Holy shit!” Scott clutches at his heart. It’s trying to escape his rib cage with the speed its beating.

“What? What happened?” Stiles nearly slams his arms into him.

“Guh.” Scott stares at his mate’s back. His eyes skim his body and rest on that pert ass he ––––––– loves. Some thoughts are better not thought about in school, especially when Harris walks by. Who knows what that he would do if he thought Scott was poaching on his territory, the creep!

“Scott!” Stiles waves a hand in front Scott, effectively blocking Harris and his creepiness from view.

“He winked at me,” whispers Scott hoarsely. “He just winked at me. Tell me I didn’t imagine that.”

“Uh. I was facing you and still am. I didn’t see that _so_ I got nothing.” Stiles shrugs, throwing back his arms.

“Damn!” Scott slams his head back.

“Yeah. Damn! I can’t believe you. You get here early, but we’re still going to be late.” Stiles grabs his backpack, slinging it up his back.

“Sorry.” Except Scott is barely sorry that he’s in love with Jackson Whittemore. He can’t even if he tried.

“I keep telling you, man. He’s bad for your mojo.” Stiles stabs the air with his hands.

“He’s not!” Scott wants to grab Stiles and shake him for all he’s worth, but he won’t hurt his friend and brother. It doesn’t stop him from stalking into Stiles’s space and towering over him, growling.

“Chill!” Stiles puts his hands up in surrender. “It’s not like I’m attacking him or anything.”

“Saying shit about him is a form of attack. You know I’m still human right?” Scott stalks away from Stiles towards the classroom. Thank god it’s not Harris. He’ll definitely punch the guy out if he could with his foul mood.

“Werewolves are wolf and human.” Stiles nods stiltedly to himself. “Right.” He shakes his head, sighs and follows after Scott.

“Good.” Scott opens the door, and doesn’t bother to let Stiles pass.

They don’t pass notes or whisper to each other during class or until lunch – an entire three periods. It’s unusual.

The teachers are completely perplexed, but grateful for one day of peace. That doesn’t mean they aren’t worried. They walk on egg shells around their “Dynamic Duo”. But by the time lunch is over they’re back on normal terms.

Scott follows as Stiles surreptitiously takes in the cafeteria. Their usual table is taken. The only table open is where three corners of the table are already taken. It’s Boyd across Erica and Isaac at the other end.

When Scott and Stiles sit down next to each other, there are three islands. Scott stares at Stiles who shrugs, reaches over and slaps his friend on the shoulder. He sighs. They’re good.

To the collective however it seems that the air pressure decreases in the room because no one is staring at them like they’re freaks and their table mates are no longer edging away from them in fear or stone still for that matter.

“What am I going to do?” whispers Scott.

“I dunno.” Stiles waves his fork and mystery whatever on it flies off and lands on the table.

Scott snickers when Reyes’s eyes swivel between Stiles and the questionable something or other.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well suck it up.”

“Gross Stiles.” Scott grins. “That’s _your_ mess.”

“Aw Scottie. Guess you don’t need my help with your snugglebug then,” crows Stiles.

“Stiles! He isn’t my snugglebug.” Scott sags to the side. “He isn’t my anything.”

“But you want him to be.” Stiles waggles his eyebrows. “He is your imprinted mate.”

Scott growls lowly.

Stiles backs away a bit.

“We didn’t hear you, McCall! Wanna share with the masses?” crows Greenberg.

Jackson smacks Greenberg on the back of the head.

“Ow! What the hell?” cries Greenberg.

“Pft. Whatever slides of McCall’s mouth is trash. I wouldn’t want to hear it.” Jackson stabs at his food.

A Wolfsbane coated knife as good as carves out his heart. His breath catches. He lowers his head, trying to breathe normally, but all he can do is pant. Stiles nudges Scott. He glances up and just as his mate is about to look away. Their eyes catch. Scott’s heart is returned to him.   His mate winks and his heart nearly beats out of his chest. He grins wide.

Jackson rolls his eyes, but a smile peeks out from the corners of his mouth.

“I can die happy,” whispers Scott hoarsely. “That was the sweetest thing he’s ever done for me.”

“In a backhanded way,” grumbles Stiles, jabbing his fork in Jackson’s direction.

Scott barely eats, glancing surreptitiously at his mate.

Stiles nudges his best friend every so often to remind him to eat or at least pretend he is, so he won’t be caught gawking at the jock.

Scott barely notices when everyone leaves. He too busy admiring his mate.

Jackson looks up, eyes glowing silver. He flicker back to blue-grey as he glances around the room. It’s just them. He slinks hips swaying over to their table, holding onto his tray.

“McCall.” Jackson turns to Stiles, lips curling down. “Out.”

“Hey.” Scott smiles small and shy.

“I think you meant: Hey! That’s my best friend you’re kicking out!” Stiles flails. “Where’s your solidarity, man?” Stiles clutches in the general area of his heart with both hands. “I’m really hurt you know. You’re my brother. Our love was supposed to be forever. Its true love you know? Disney says so.”

“That’s between sisters.” Scott barely even looks at Stiles.

“Ouch! Scott! Scottie! How could you do this to me?” cries Stiles, clutching at his chest. “Straight through my heart man. Straight through my heart.”

Scott’s still staring at Jackson. He swallows and licks his lips. They’re dry and so is the inside of his mouth. He really shouldn’t have swallowed all his saliva.

“Your mouth is open. That’s not attractive.” Stiles thumps Scott on the back.

Scott bites his bottom lip.

“Go away, Stilinski. And your mouth isn’t open, McCall.” Jackson glares at Stiles, lips pulled back in a snarl.

“Fine.” Stiles walks away. “See if I help you with your shit anymore, _Scottie_. You’ve made your choice. Well guess what? I’ve made mine. See you tomorrow I guess.”

Stiles has two back to back free periods. Scott has one.

“Thinking about pussying out of first line, Stilinski?” Jackson grins, all teeth.

“Right. See ya.” Stiles storms off, puffing under his breath. “Rude. Bitch. Ice queen. Scottie deserves better.”

“Sorry about that.” Scott scratches the back of his head.

“It’s okay.” Jackson takes a bite of his food. He takes drink out of his water bottle and gestures to the space between them. “What is this?”

Scott shrugs. “Right now? I like you. What is it like for you?”

“Against my will I find you attractive.” Jackson pouts.

Scott wants to kiss him, so bad. “Uh. Thanks?”

“Can I kiss you?” Jackson leans forward, a little.

Scott stares. Can he? Hell yeah! Anywhere you want. This is like heaven. He swallows, forcing himself to look less like a drooling idiot.

“Can you?” Scott grins, eyes sparkling.

“Fine. McCall.” Jackson shoves his chair back with a screech.   “See you at practice.”

“I’m sorry. I was just teasing.” Scott’s eyes are wide and _almost_ watering.

Jackson sighs. His mate – what was that? – was such a damn puppy, all earnest and so very sincere. “Whatever.” He sits back down. “Don’t _ever_ do that again. Do you understand?”

Scott nods emphatically. He’ll do anything to make his mate happy. If it means spending less time with his brother and never teasing his mate then he’ll do it. He wants to be allowed to be at his side more than anything. God! I’m whipped. I don’t even need Stiles to tell me. My independence has gone up in smoke. Bye!

But he can’t be bothered. His mate is beautiful. He doesn’t need anything except his mate.

Jackson smiles. McCall isn’t so bad. For a guy. He’s a pretty good guy. Cute. Puppy. Mate. Providing. Safe. Protecting. Good. He blinks. What did he just think? What is wrong with him? He frowns. “Excuse me. I have a headache?”

“Do you want me to go with you to the nurse?” Scott slides out of his chair, and almost instantly ends up next to his mate.

Yes! No! Maybe. No! Of course he wants mate with him. He loves – wait what? And he does. He really does. But he sure as hell isn’t going to admit it. At least not yet, anyway. “No! Go away! Don’t touch me! I can go by myself, thanks.”

“Oh.” Scott sighs, lowering his head.

Comfort mate. Love mate. Submit. Make mate happy. Jackson shakes his head. What the hell was that? “I need to go.”

Jackson flees the scene.


	11. The Wait

Scott stares after his mate. Mate run. Hurt Mate. Damn it! Why couldn’t I just have kept my big mouth shut? Now I’ve hurt him. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to tear after his mate. At the same time, he couldn’t understand his mate’s aversion to the nurse’s office. Confused, he couldn’t do anything but wait. After all, his mate needed some time alone.

Stiles, after seeing Jerkson run, walks back into the caf. He places a hand on Scott’s shoulder.

Scott sighs, and looks at his brother. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Stiles sits down next to his best friend. “You owe me though.”

“You just said no problem.” Scott glares at his friend.

“I know.” Stiles nods. “Just, it’s…Jerkass.”        

Scott rolls his eyes. As much as he gets Stiles’s distaste, he has never hated Jackson. He’s always cared for the blond from the first moment they met. He may have always been in love with him.

Stiles leans forward. “What’s the plan?”

“Huh.” Scott blinks.

“For winning back your pretty Jacks.” Stiles speaks slowly, as if Scott’s lost his hearing.

Scott waits for Stiles to stop his dramatics. “I dunno.”

Stiles sighs and leans back against the wall. His brother isn’t usually so out of it. It’s Jackass’s fault. He hates – really dislikes. Hey! He’s trying to be supportive here. Never let it be said that Stiles Stilinski is a brother betraying douche. He has no plan, though. It’s not because he’s not trying to be supportive guy. It’s because even though he’s trying, he really isn’t into the fact that Jerkson will soon end up Mr. McCall. Or something like that.

He’s not looking forward to sharing his brother with the douchebag. He’s not looking forward to sharing his brother period. So he changes the subject. “So what your plan for tonight’s game?”

“I haven’t had any neuro-suppressants or whatever the doc’s been subscribing. I should be in top form tonight.” Scott scrubs his face. It isn’t a good thing. He’s afraid to lose control on the field. Even worse, he’s bound to lose control more easily if the Alpha’s near. And he might attack tonight.

There’s a couple days until the full moon _and_ tonight the school will be crowded. It doesn’t take a genius to know that tonight is a good night for attack. It’ll cause mass panic and that is what the Alpha wants. Well, that and blood. It’s bound to put Scott in a tight enough spot to agree to join his pack. Or at least that’s what Scott thinks the Alpha is planning.

“Think the Alpha’s going to attack?” Stiles leans closer, and whispers.

“Maybe. Doc said he’s been ‘released’ back into the wild.” Scott bangs his head against the wall. “Damn it.”

“Doc should have kept him.” Stiles stares across the hall, watching their peers fumble around. There’s a chance one of them – of us – will get hurt tonight. So unknowing. So innocent. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“He’s bound by his oath to protect and save every life he can.” Scott rubs his eyes. He slumps forward. He likes this less than Stiles, who wants to keep the peace in Beacon Hills and for his dad to be safe. His mate is in danger. He’s likely going to be the first on the Alpha’s – on Peter Hale’s – list. And it’s his fault for telegraphing his interest.

Stiles himself is in danger, but he knows that already.

Scott just hopes that he won’t drag anyone else into this, especially his mother. But he hopes it will never come to that. “Besides the animals at the clinic go crazy when werewolves are around, especially ones they don’t know. I’m just the dude who takes care of them and they freaked out when I first Turned, especially the cats. And Peter Hale’s _the_ Alpha.”

“Dang. Can’t save us though.” Stiles leans back and covers his face with his hands.

“Yeah, only those in his care.” Scott digs his fingers into his hair. His eyes flash gold and claws grow over his fingernails. He doesn’t try to keep the anger and bitterness out of his tone.

“Shit.” Stiles slams the flat of his fist against his forehead. “He’s definitely going to attack tonight.”

“What?” Scott jumps up. He doesn’t care that he’s nearly half-transformed in the middle of the caf. “Tonight’s the game!”

“Exactly!” Stiles throws his arms out. He takes a breath. “Almost the whole town’s going to be there.” He sucks his thumb into his mouth and gnaws on his thumb between words.

“Fuck!” Scott tears at his hair. “We need to warn Derek!”

Stiles frowns, chews on his thumb a bit more and sighs. “I’ll do it. You go to class okay?”

“Alright.” Scott squirms a bit staring at the clock.

“Chill.” He slaps Scott on the back and walks away from Scott. “I’ll get Derek and we’ll meet you later.”

Scott spends the class staring out the window and doodling in his notebook.

It’s Spanish. He’s pretty much beyond the material Senora Castillo’s been teaching. Hell, she’s always said he was the best student in her class and that if she has her way he’ll already be her TA. Even their biology teacher, Mlle. Elvira Chevalier thought he might like Linguistics, if he wasn’t so determined to become a vet. He not being as naturally talented in biology, he worked hard to accomplish his current grades. For that she spent extra time with him with his reports, dissections and tests, but also speaking to him in French.

Scott blinks. He’s been drawing diagrams from cell division from his biology text book that’ll be on the test next week. He groans. He has a tutoring session with Mlle. Elvira tomorrow. That means whatever goes on tonight might change how his studying schedule.

The bell rings before he can commiserate about his plans to pass his next biology test.

Scott rushes out the door. There. Stiles is leaning against the wall across the hall with his eyes closed and ear buds in. He immediately makes his way towards his best friend. “Stiles.” When he doesn’t answer, Scott taps him on the shoulder. Hey!”

“Guh what?” Stiles jerks, nearly banging his head back on the wall. He turns left and right. Lydia hasn’t seen his little moment. Good. He pulls his shirt down and turns towards his friend. “Scottie!”

“So…” Scott pulls back and waits. “What did Derek say?”

Stiles makes some rude gestures about Derek’s sanity. “He said he doesn’t believe that his uncle’s the Alpha, but that he’d come meet us anyway at the lockers.”

“Isn’t it a bit risky? Our teammates are human.” Scott follows Stiles as they make their way to the locker room. He knows his brother’s a bit of a control freak sometimes…okay, most of the time, so he lets him lead. Besides, Stiles is pretty slick at it, when he wants to be.

“Yeah. Well, we’ll have to see.” Stiles walks quiet and steady.

Scott and Stiles make it to the locker room when it’s still empty, except…Derek is there. The moment Scott enters, he slams the younger Beta into the lockers, denting one or two.

Stiles snaps, “Hey Derek, we don’t deny that you’re a good fighter to have at our back, but neither of us likes you all that much. You aren’t making it easier for us to like you. And if you want him (and me) to listen to you, you should go easy on him.”

“Fine,” Derek huffs, letting go of Scott, “then you try and talk some sense into him.”

Scott rubs his throat and stalks over to his locker throwing off his gear.

“You shouldn’t play, what if you lose control on the field?” Stiles the best brother he has – the only brother he has – looks at him worriedly. “You said it yourself, Jacks-baby’s on the team.”

“Exactly why I should play. He needs me. I’m co-captain remember?” cries Scott plaintively.

“Oh god!” Stiles slams a hand onto his forehead. “Not this again. Last week you said nearly the exact same thing to impress Allison and to go to her party, now you’re thinking it’ll help with him? Jesus! Not only did you screw _that_ up, you got Mr. Argent suspicious of you. Jacks-baby is in a totally different league _and_ he’s envious of your sudden increase in ability and he’s afraid to lose captaincy. He views you as a threat. He’s not going to give you the time of day at all. You’ve got zero, zilch, denada chance of ever getting with him.”

“Neither of you have any faith in me,” grumbles Scott.

“You’re a good partner on a hunt or saving someone’s life, but this? You’re in over your head,” says Derek.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” growls Scott.

“We need to keep each other safe, Scott,” barks Derek, “and you better keep your end.”

“Fine,” mutters Scott.

Derek leaves as if he’s never been.

“Go ahead Stiles, give it to me.” Scott leans back against the lockers.

“Derek’s right. You’re in over your head.” Stiles is already swinging his backpack behind his back and walking for the door.

Scott freezes.

Stiles groans, smacks his forehead with a hand, dragging it down. He leans sits down. His brother and friend needs his support, even if he thinks this is the worst idea in this quadrant of the known universe.


	12. The Game

Jackson enters.

Scott goes back to his bags.

Jackson is stripping on the other side of the change room. He tries to keep his eyes and his thoughts off his pretty mate – he has to keep reminding himself that this is not a permanent stage. I’m so fucking screwed. How the hell am I going to be able to practice, let alone play?

He’s losing his mind. He can smell Jackson’s scent, even if he keeps his eyes to himself. Derek and Stiles are right. He shouldn’t play, but he has to. He’s already made the commitment and his mom…and Allison with Lydia and Mr. Argent are going to be there.

He struggles into his uniform, every sense trembling with his mate’s closeness. He has to clench his eyes shut to keep from staring, but it kind of impedes his coordination just a bit.

“Fuck.” He almost smashes his face against his locker.

He is beyond glad that his best friend and brother isn’t pointing and snickering. But he’s still humiliated enough by the insults whispered by their nastier teammates.

He pushes his way out the locker room and onto the field.

Stiles follows after him. “Dude…”

Scott keeps walking. “I couldn’t breathe in there.”

“Nasal congestion, asthma attack or Jackson?”

Stiles is a good brother and best friend, but sometimes he has the worst manner – bedside or otherwise. Today, and most of this month, Scott doesn’t want to deal with it.

“You know I can’t get sick.”

“Is it time to say I told you so?” Stiles stabs Scott with his index finger.

“No.” Scott keeps walking, he slumps onto the benches. “I’ll be fine.”

“Uh. No, you won’t.” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Why?” Scott raises a brow.

“Because…” Stiles nods his head back towards the school entrance. “When Jacks-baby comes out, you’re going to lose your shit.”

“I am not.” He really doesn’t believe that, not anymore. But he’s made a decision and he’s sticking to it.

“Well then,” Stiles whistles, “Don’t say I didn’t tell you, just for the record.”

Scott doesn’t answer. What the hell can I say? He’s not going to believe me. I almost can’t even believe myself. He hunches over, putting his head between his thighs, letting his arms hang at his sides.

Scott glowers at Mr. Argent. Allison is beside him. Lydia is on her other side. They’re here for his mate.

The trio glare at him.

He nods short and sharp.   He acknowledges his-ex-girlfriend and her father. She’s agreed to be his friend – he’s wondering how on earth that’s going to happen, given all the reasons why they’ve broken up – and he’s a potential enemy or ally. Tonight will be a determining factor.

Lydia – he’s kissed her once and knows now why he both loathed and liked it: she tasted of his mate – and he hates her for having him. Not that he will ever tell Stiles. But his brother knows without him speaking.

He scents his mate walk onto the field, but doesn’t move.

“Your pretty baby’s walking over here right now,” hisses Stiles. “C’mon get up. Or at least sit up straight. Don’t tell me you’ve already given up?”

Scott groans because he can his arousal is ramping up. Shit.

Stiles sighs – he smells something like relief, nerves and anticipatory-fear – when Coach walks onto the field. He sits down when Coach shoos him away. So much for participating.

“Step it up and don’t let McCall run the show,” whispers Jackson.

“What about what happened at practice?”

“Don’t let his freak moves scare the shit out of you.”

“But…”

“Heh, he probably can’t keep it up.”

And there’s sniggers all around.

The sting of rejection lances through the various processes and neuro-connections and sears his amydala. Shit. He can feel the change coming. He bends over panting, trying to regain his control over his instincts, but the drive to prove himself not only as worthy of Jackson’s opponent, but also as a potential mate pushes him to run faster, make more near impossible plays.

He glares gold at his so-called team mates. The guy who mocked his masculinity nearly shits himself and jerks his hand, throwing the ball up into the air and Scott catches it, scores. All his senses narrow to his mate’s response. He has to physically root himself to the spot to stop himself from attacking. Why can’t you respect me?! His mate’s scent and heartbeat tells him all he needs to know. He hasn’t earned anything but shock, anger, envy.

His own heartbeat ratchets. I did everything I could to make you see me. Why? Mate angry. Mate hate. Not hurt Mate. He can’t control himself anymore. He’s changing.

He looks towards the bench. His mate is there with the others.

His heart thumps once painfully. He forgets to listen for his brother’s heartbeat. He sees grey.

His mate doesn’t want him. Fuck this. I’ll show him who I really am. He’ll see. Good provider. Strong protector.

His sense of smell intensifies and he scents bitter jealousy, despair and pain so deep that he almost cries out. This is why his mate hates him. His ability to cruise effortlessly always loved, but never popular – never the object of envy, of awe. He was one of the shoal or of the herd, but never pride, not until now.

The game begins.

He snatches the ball from his teammate’s crosse. He blocks the opposing team’s shot. He intercepts his teammates’ pass.

He watches his mate out the corner of his eyes.

Jackson is fierce on the field – has always been.   He’s just never paid much attention to the beauty of it. He stares for longer than necessary, then – oh, you’re on Jacks.

Noticing it doesn’t stop him from being aggressive. He does have a point to make. He’s a good mate.

He’s proving himself to be a good mate. Or he thinks he is. The adrenaline and power surge gets to him. He makes his best –riskiest – moves. He snarls at his opponent. One look at his eyes and the kid wets his pants. He wrinkles his nose at the stench. He barrels over one of the others.

The crowd goes wild.

Aw, shit. I over did it.

It is better to be loved and feared, than feared alone or hated and feared. Was that Machiavelli? Stiles will know.

It is this position that Scott holds now and he’s uncomfortable in it. He he’s uncomfortable in his skin. But with the way we’re losing…he can’t afford to pull back. Even with the danger of the Alpha and the Argents.

The crowd surges up and roars.

They won.

Electricity hums through Scott's skin - the victory, his mate's incredulous "awed" expression, Chris Argent's judging stare...speaking of which, the icy heat of his glare curdles along Scott's nerves.  He turns on the field and werewolf gold meets human brown.

The guillotine blade has just slipped an inch...or two.  He's usually not that lucky, so two it is.  He shudders and runs.  
This win...it isn't really a victory, at least not where Argent is concerned.

Argent probably wants to mount his head on the wall (or on his picket fence) - the wolf fur covered head that is...

And his mate - Jackson doesn't and has never taken it well to be second best. Mate hate.

Scott whines high pitched and hurt.  He's been nothing but a complete moron about this.  He needs a timeout and then...and then...well he'll think about it later.

He runs for the forest. When he comes back to himself after the adrenaline high, he clutches his head. “Fuck.”

He’s done that once before. He pretty much fucked up then, just as he has now. He knows Mr. Argent is watching him more than ever, especially now that he knows. He groans.

Stiles would say, kaiidth, what is is. Well I haven’t got the luxury. He snorts. The steam of his breath rises out in the cold ultramarine evening. At least the stars are bright tonight. He crunches his way back to civilization. Good thing it’s Friday. His mom’s going to be pissed. She knows that he’s a werewolf, but not about the Jackson-smells-really-good-and-my-wolf/limbic system -pretty-much-sexually-imprinted-on-him thing. That’d go over really well. She’d freak and he’d be grounded for the rest of his life, world-saving aside.

He climbed up the side of the house to his bedroom. He opens the window ready to shuck off his gear and get into bed. His mother is sitting on his bed.

“H-hey mom.”

“I came home and you weren’t in your bed. Where were you this afternoon?”

“I…uh…you saw what happened, and…well, I just got home.”

“And?”

“It took me a while to come back to myself.”

“Did you get anything to eat?”

“No mom.”

“Take a shower and I’ll have a sandwich ready for you.”

“Thanks mom.”

The bread is lightly toasted and buttered. There’s ham, lettuce, cheese and tomato – all community grown and produced. He can’t really handle the taste of preservatives in processed foods. He eats slowly. His stomach growls, cannibalizing itself. Mom’s going to start the interrogation soon. Damn.

“So tell me Scott, why did you lose control today?”

“I…I found my mate.” His eyes are wide and his mouth is open. I can’t believe I just told my mother that. He plows on. “He…rejected me…again.”

“You found your mate,” says his mother slowly. She might not understand much about werewolves and their biology, but she’s comfortable enough about herself, her love for her baby boy and her morals that she accepts that her son is apparently homosexual, “who’s a boy…” but under no circumstances will she accept the idea that it might be Stiles. He’s like a second son to her and it would be unnecessarily awkward if…well, it’s best not to think about it. “It’s not Stiles?”

“No! He’s my brother. That’d be like incest, mom,” complains Scott, his eyes flash gold. His clutches his head. Everything is too bright. His vision is zooming in and out of focus. His ears are ringing. He can’t hear much save for his own heartbeat.

Melissa breathes a sigh of relief. She’s not sure if she can handle more of Stiles. He’s lovely in small doses.

“I was just asking,” his mother puts her hands up.


	13. The Choice

A week passes, Scott has made some progress in controlling himself. He’s been on edge for just as long. He’s taken to running to let off excess energy that comes before school, during his free periods and after practice, sticking to the edges of the forest and the more middle class area of town. He’d rather risk his own neck than run into his “Beloved” – Jackson runs laps in the mornings – and it takes more than his dwindling willpower do it.

He knows it’s not ideal. He can survive with his lack of mate. He has Stiles to make up for the chasm, or as much of it as he can.

But it’s clear to the people who loves him that he’s not in the right frame of mind to be completely cognizant of the situation. His body is deteriorating. His senses are dulling. His strength is seeping away. And he’s losing weight by inches. But he’s always been good at hiding his weaknesses, except from his brother.

Stiles has been watching him like a hawk for the past couple weeks.

He’s just given his brother the slip, stating that he needed to piss. He staggers up the stairs, careful not to put too much of his weight and strength on the bannister.

He sighs, rubbing his temples. He’s got a migraine the size of the state and soon it’ll probably grow the size of Texas and begin creeping into its estate.

As much as Scott doesn’t welcome his interference, Derek – must have walked in through the front entrance; how he does that he still doesn’t know – grabs him by his shirt.

“You’re a fool McCall thinking that you can avoid this.”

“What do you suggest then Hale?” Scott snarls, or in any case attempts it. “I won’t force him.”

“Tell him the truth. Give him all the information.” Derek shoves the hapless young Beta against the wall. “Tell him about Peter and how we need your help to stop him, and that he can save you.”

“There’s only one choice.” Scott puts his palm over his eyes.

“More likely, he’ll ask you to die from what I know of him.” Derek shakes his head. “I don’t know what you did to deserve that.”

Scott tries to growl, when Stiles crams himself into the non-gap between him and Derek. He should’ve known that his brother wouldn’t let him be if he thought there would be trouble of any sort.

Scott smiles, but he still has to protect his squishy human – oh dear, he’s beginning to sound maudlin, almost like... “Stiles!”

“It’s true!” Stiles slams a finger into Derek’s chest. “And if he chooses to mate with Scott, it’ll be a non-choice. You can’t tell Scott to make Jerkson _kill_ him!”

Derek clenches his fists. “The best it will do is end his suffering.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Stiles throws himself at the werewolf. “I c-can’t watch my brother die, but I can’t ask him to go kill himself either!”

Scott’s ears buzz and kaleidoscopic spots burst in his vision. He sways on his feet. He scrabbles at the bannister which is splitting in two and –

His ears are plugged with water or cotton, but he almost hears:

“I _told_ you –”

“Scott. Scott!”

He blinks. The walls are white, the screen separating him and the rest of the room is white, the sheets are white and Stiles is wearing his red hoodie, and sleeping with his mouth open. Scott snickers.

There isn’t much funny these days, and even if this isn’t that much of a giggle, he’ll take what he can get.

He can hear the nurse puttering around her little office on the other side of the partition. She’s dialing his mother – and she’s sworn to him during his last visit that she’s memorized his mother’s number by now, as if she’s ever forgotten it in the first place, having had her first foray at the elementary school where he and Stiles studied.

His eyes are heavy and –

His mother’s voice clangs in his eardrums. He has to cover his ears. He gasps, opening his eyes.

Melissa looks down at him and gasps. Her son is a werewolf now. He isn’t supposed to be ill. My baby! Her heartbeat picks up. Oh god! What if this is life threatening?

Scott blinks and rubs his eyes. He squints. Slowly he pushes his body up from the bed and promptly collapses when he tries to stand up. His mother is already taking his weight, and supporting him before he can comprehend what has just happened.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t pull this on yourself too.” Melissa sniffs. “This isn’t your fault.”

“If I hadn’t…” Scott bites his lip and lowers his eyes. He can’t completely regret the Imprint. He loves Jackson too much already to regret it, when he can already see from the way he acted around the Alpha – Peter Hale – that he needs love. He wants more than anything to be privileged enough to give it to someone who needs it so much. Even if his love can’t be known, he’ll always love his Mate.

“Shush you.” Melissa leans over and runs a hand over her son’s forehead. She bites her lip at the sweat and clamminess.

Scott stifles a smile as his mother fluffs up his pillow.

A gleaming spine pierces his eyes, as a silhouetted hand pulls back the curtain. For a moment Scott’s heart catches in his throat. The moment passes when a familiar and well-loved and sometimes annoying voice announces: “You’re getting released today.”

Scott swallows down a disappointed sigh and smiles. “Stiles.”

“Aye. ‘sup?” Stiles grins.

“Just the usual.”

Stiles frowns. “Oh. Well it’s nice and bright out today. Want me to open the blinds a bit?”

Scot sighs. “You know I’m not some invalid.”

Stiles raises a brow and nods toward the cot.

Scott grumbles. “It’s not forever, you know.”

“You’ll be dead.” Stiles slams a hand against the wall.

Scott winces, closing his eyes. The light is a bit too bright and the sound of flesh hitting the wall reverberates in his ear drums. His migraine radiates outward from between his eyes.

“Sorry.” Stiles sits down on the cot by his brother’s leg. “It’s just not fair. You deserve to love and you deserve to live. It shouldn’t be killing you. And it’s not really love is it?”

“What else could it be?” whispers Scott.

“A compulsion.” Stiles presses his lips together in a thin line. Scott hasn’t seen him so grave even at his mother’s wake.

“No. I’m sure I love him.” Scott’s voice cracks and he begins to cough.

“If you’re sure…” Stiles leans over grasping Scott’s knee, “then I’ll help you.”

Scott nods. They stare solemnly at each other for a moment.

Stiles pulls away and strokes his chin. A second later, he pulls something out of his bag and throws it at his brother. “From one of your adoring fans. Not sure who and not sure how, but it was in my locker. Thought it might cheer you up a bit.”

The white fluffy thing is supposed to be a teddy bear lands on Scott’s face, upside down, butt planted over his eyes. He pulls it off his face, turning it right side up and stares. There’s a familiar scent wrapped around it. “Huh?

Bringing the stuffed toy up to his nose, Scott sniffs deeply. It’s definitely the scent of his mate. He’s hit by the impulse not to tell his best friend. He sets the teddy on his chest, turns to Stiles and smiles. “Thanks.”

“What are friends for?”

“You know we’re more than that.”

“Love you too, darling.”

Scott squeezes his eyes shut as his laughter mutates into coughing. He clutches at the bear to keep it from falling,

“Dude!” Stiles grabs a foam cup and straw – Scott can tell from the crinkling of paper that it’s fresh. “You need to relax and get a drink of water. You may or may not be dehydrated.”

“You don’t need to be suitably obstructive or vaguely glossing.” Scott reaches over and smacks at Stiles. “You know that.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get me, or you’d get cold water dumped on you.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Just help me get a drink.”

Stiles snickers. “You love me.”

“You’re like my annoying little brother,” Scott waits a beat, “except you’re my age.”

“Sure.” Stiles reaches over and helps steady the cup.

Scott He cradles the teddy bear to his chest and shoves at his blankets somewhat sluggishly with his other arm, relying on his best friend’s support to get himself untangled from the sheets. He makes it to the door under his own power at least once he’s standing. He leans on Stiles the entire way to his Jeep, which is parked near the other side of the lot.

He ends up sitting on a bench outside the front entrance, while his brother grabs his car. He huffs. Some strength he has if it fails him in the face of rejection. He hangs his head.

Except it’s not really rejection is it? He glances down at the teddy in his lap.

The car ride is silent. There’s not much to talk about. Not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just hard. Jacks…that isn’t a topic Stiles will enjoy.

He stumbles into his bedroom and falls face first on his bed. He’s dead to the world within minutes. Sometime in the night he breaks out in cold sweat. He tosses and turns chasing something or someone in his REM cycle. He doesn’t wake up, not even to the sound of his mother coming into the room to tell him at 6:30 am right after she’s been paged that she’s been switched to night shift.


	14. The Call(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for being patient with me. This is the long awaited Chapter 14. I almost wanted to wait until the tomorrow (04/14/15), but I decided that now was better. 14 and 14 is bad luck, even ensuring death in E. Asian (Chinese, Korean and Japanese culture). I'm Chinese Canadian, so yeah...but then again the numbers today aren't so nice either 14 13... but I waited until 8:00 which is pretty much wealth and fortune in Chinese tradition. =)

The sounds of life and the sun’s pointed rays enter the room, but the teenaged werewolf sleeps and sleeps. He lays twisted in bed with one hand curled over his heart. His breathing is shallow and quick. The bustling of his mother preparing breakfast reaches his ears and his temporal lobe. He tries to open his eyes, to move his arms, but his body rebels and he cannot seem to wake up. The door to his room opens. He remains unaware as she pauses, looking in.

She checks on him again at 9:30 am. He is still asleep when he is usually awake by then and biking his way to school. His skin is near white under his tan. She touches his forehead and nearly recoils when it is clammy. He’s not supposed to get sick now that he’s a werewolf. Her fingers tremble as she fumbles with the keys as she attempts to call Dr. Deaton’s number at the clinic.

“It’s Scott.” She clutches at the phone. It is her son’s only life line now. Or at least it is the only one that he will accept.

“Did extraordinary anything happen?”

“Yesterday he was ill,” Melissa twists a hand through her hair. “I-it was worse than his asthma…and werewolves don’t get sick…right?”

“No.”Melissa’s heart almost beats out of her chest. She has to get everything she knows to the doctor. There must be a chance he can do something for her baby. “And-and he told me he found his mate and that he was…”

She almost can’t say the words, but she forces them out of her seizing throat, “rejected again.”

“I see. His body is shutting down.”

Her eyes widen and she can’t quite understand what he is saying. Dr. Deaton has always known just what to do, at least that is what Stiles told her the last time… “What?”

And then it hits her. How can that man be so calm? Her baby is dying! Melissa squeezes the phone until her knuckles turn white. “You have to save my baby!”

“I already did as much as I could for him. The injections are taking a toll on his body. They weren’t meant to be used long term, or at all.

Melissa collapse on to the desk chair. “What do you mean?”

“The formulas…they were experimental, Melissa.”

“You gave my son experimental drugs?” Melissa grasps at her hair, tears well up in her eyes. "Are you insane?”

“He insisted.” After a moment, Deaton sighs and it crackles down the phone line utterly defeated. “It was that, or nothing.”

Melissa blinks forcing back tears and she turns to watch her son breathe as he sleeps in what is beginning to look like a coma. “Oh Scott, my poor baby.”

“Perhaps he may recover if…” Deaton pauses, “the success of this venture may not be very high, but if you could convince young Mr. Whittemore to accept Scott as something more than an enemy then your son may still live.”

Melissa closes her eyes. She knows from what she’s heard from teachers and from Scott himself how Jackson Whittemore hates him and that even if he doesn’t his pride may prevent him from becoming _involved_. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes and she has to bite her lip to keep from dissolving into sobs. Her son may die and she’ll do whatever it take to prevent it.

She punches the second number she knows that will help her.

“Hey Mrs. M. what’s up?”

“Scott…he’s…” Melissa clenches her fingers. She doesn’t know what to say to the boy who is almost her son and is a brother to her own. She closes her eyes and counts to ten.

There is hitched breathing from the other side of the line.

She gets up, walks over to the bed and sits down. She lays a hand on her baby’s forehead and flinches. “He’s burning up.”

“Shit! I’m coming over!”

“Stiles, please hurry!” Melissa wraps her hands around her son’s lower than human temperature – which for a wolf is alarming.

“I-I need you to stay with him. His temperature is increasing.”

There is a terrible moment when there is no answer except for crackling and after a moment the dial tone.

“Hey Mrs. M.” Stiles crashes through the front door, snaps it shut and attempts to fly up the steps but mostly ends up tripping at high speeds. Melissa cracks a small smile. She remembers how when Stiles was little, he sometimes used to call her Mrs. Mom. It’s time to call in a favour, or at least spend some time with Coach Finstock.

It has been too long since she last spoke to Bobby.

She presses a kiss to her son’s forehead.

“I’m going to make a call. Take care of him for me until I get back.” Melissa grabs Stiles by the shoulder and stares him in the eyes. She recognizes the wetness in his eyes mirrored in her own. “Do you hear?”

“Yeah.” Stiles looks away as his voice cracks.

Stiles is knows that even though his best friend and brother is strong, he is suffering and that he might not make it this time. But he has faith. And he’ll do anything to make it okay. Even if it means he’ll have to get that bastard Jackson Whittemore over here and...and to be friendly or something at least with Scott. He’ll pull through then, right?

It isn’t long after Melissa leaves that Scott starts thrashing in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My next chapter will take a bit of time to fine tune, so that it isn't disjointed from this one. I have already typed up a single scene from it, but the rest is still in progress, esp. the opening.
> 
> Also I hope I haven't screwed up Melissa's reaction to Deaton. If it needs editing I'll get to it ASAP, before I finish working on ch. 15.
> 
> As for my plans for this fic? It'll probably end around ch. 100.


	15. The Housecall

Scott’s senses come into focus. It’s such a rare thing now and it’s always timed with some proximity to his mate. He can hear the pattern of his mate’s stilted swagger. He sniffs discreetly, hoarding the scent, though its intricacies are still decaying. He shudders. Every muscle tightens and he has to forcibly relax each sinew and tendon.

The door creaks open.

The scent that he has so desperately been coveting is now just beyond the widening crack between door and jamb. Scott inhales deeply. Still, this could be a sensory hallucination. “Jackson?”

“Don’t think ever think that I like you!” Jackson’s cheeks bloom pink. “I’m just here to save your ass McCall.”

Scott blinks. He must have been imaging it. Nothing normally suggests that his mate _likes_ him at all. But that’s alright. There’s time.

“You want to play Mario Kart?” Scott looks down at his hands. “Or something else, if you want.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You’re supposed to be keeping me company to keep me alive. It’ll be boring if we didn’t do anything at all won’t it?” Scott shrugs.

Jackson groans. “Fine. Do you have Resident Evil?”

Scott nods. “It’s in the cupboard under my desk.”

Jackson crouches down and picks his way through the dark haired boy’s stuff. He pulls out a still store quality wrapped game. “You have _Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep_?”

“Yeah.” Scott scratches the back of his head. “I thought you’d say that it was soft.”

“No!” Jackson’s cheeks flush. “I mean…I’ve always wanted to play it.”

Uncharacteristically, he ducks his head. “Danny doesn’t have it yet…”

Scott can sense some undercurrent of unhappiness in his mate. He knows better than to draw attention to it. Instead he pulls back his blankets. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Jackson looks up after a couple seconds. “You need help getting out bed?”

“I’m fine.” Scott shuffles out of bed. His cheeks flush. “Ah. I’m just going to get changed.”

“You don’t have to…I mean you’re the invalid here.” Jackson looks away and his cheeks pink.

“Alright.” Scott’s lips twitch upward just a tiny bit.

“And for the record, this stays here.” Jackson points at Scott, still blushing. “You won’t like it if you tell anyone, do you hear me?”

“Stiles knows.”

Scott watches his mate’s lips turn down in a moue of disgust. The corner of his eyes prickle. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. He grimaces. His mate and Stiles don’t like each other now, and they still might never come to like each other. But if they can coexist somewhat eventually, he’s probably getting his hopes up a little too much.

“Let’s go.”

“Invalids first.”

“Well I guess it’s going to be your responsibility if I trip and fall down the stairs.” Scott smirks.

“Sure.” Jackson bounces up a bit, holding the game aloft.

Scotts eyes nearly bug out of his head. For Jackson to be so blithe about this is completely strange. He almost wants to turn around and stare into his mate’s eyes to see if they’re silver. But refrains. He doesn’t want to creep the blonde out any more than he already has with the werewolf revelation a couple days prior.

But then again, his mate is probably just happy about the game.

Still, he moves down the stairs clutching the railing if only to ground himself in his task, so as not to do something he’ll regret later.

“Okay.” Scott sits down on the couch. “Go ahead.”

“Really?” Jackson turns and faces his host. His eyes are ringed in silver. “But it’s new…”

He bites his bottom lip and picks at the wrapping plastic. “If you have it, I thought you would have played it…”

Scott sniffs the air, there’s the subtle scent of wolf and something he’s noticed every time this happens. It’s not just the occasional arousal, there’s the always present desire for approval and truth. It seems every time Jackson’s wolf rears its head that he cannot lie, or doesn’t feel the need to project the image of the tough jock he claims to be.

“No one to play it with.” Scott runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not Stiles’s style.”

“It’s okay.” He waves a hand in a hopefully encouraging manner. “You can open it.”

“Oh.” The dirty blonde boy ducks his head, presumably to hide his blushing face. “Thank you.”

Not that it does much good because Scott can hear the blood rushing in his veins.

It’s entirely adorable. Scott can’t help but want to walk over and kiss him. He has better control over himself. He doesn’t want to scare his mate away from him. Too much of the things that’s happened before may come back to haunt whatever amicable state they are in now.

He resigns himself to his seat and watches the blonde open the box.

“What?” Jackson looks up with a frown.

“You just looked like you were really concentrating there.” Scott’s lips are curved up a bit.

Jackson pouts. He lifts the edges of the plastic meticulously and opens the box. He brandishes the disk and pops it into a rather beat up PS3. It’s obvious its second hand, but he ignores it and carefully puts in the precious disk.

In the middle of the game, Jackson stiffens and turns to his dark haired companion. “If I something like this happens to me will you save me?”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad.” Jackson climbs on to the sofa and hesitantly curls up against Scott’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back guys! But due to the problems I've been having with this fic, it may be a while before a new chapter comes out. I am working on 16, 17 and 18 right now.
> 
> At the same time I am working on a companion piece to this particular chapter, which I alluded to last time. It will detail the exchange between Melissa and Coach Finstock that convinces Coach Finstock to talk to Jackson about Scott.
> 
> One last thing, I generally announce the theme of the chapter in the title. I hope the title wasn't too lame or hokey this time.
> 
> ~doomedpassion
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. I am also working on a couple other stories in the Anime Fandom _Fairy Tail_. If you're a fan of FT and Gratsu, please check it out at [ BRAVE ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/279192).
> 
> Yes, I'm a shameless promoter of my own work.


	16. The Vet

The second day Jackson comes over, Scott is sitting on top of his covers and reading an old edition of _Nature_.

His nose twitches as the scent of his mate drifts up from the open window. He stares at the article on the mating habits of fruit flies. He’s already lost interest. His eyebrows draw together. Every time his mate is near, he gets distracted. At this rate he’ll never get anything done.

He takes a subtle sniff, Jackson’s scent has changed again and it is beginning to resemble the one he fell so hard for just a couple weeks ago. He cannot fathom how short that time span has been. So much has changed since then. One of those is bounding up the stairs.

He turns back to his article and tries for the life of him to get back to reading. At least then his non-platonic feelings won’t surface and drive his blonde love away.

The door is open. Jackson hovers in the doorway. His eyes are his regular steel blue.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows. “McCall.”

Every cell in his body objects to being ignored. And something like an icepick or a claw scratches against his skull. It hates being dismissed especially this person.

“Hey.” Scott looks up from his article.

Jackson nods. “We should go out.”

His every muscle relaxes and the scratching disappears as if it has never been. He wonders if he’s imagining it, but his entire body feels warm. His fingers twitch and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself still, to keep himself from walking forward to –––

Scott raises a brow.

“I need to find out if what you said the other day is true.” Jackson steps forward.

His reactions…if McCall was telling the truth, then it’s his wolf, his instincts that drive him to seek out the darker haired boy. He has to bite his bottom lip to keep himself from shivering.

His every nerve vibrates. It’s almost cold in the space between them. And the brunet is radiating heat. He wants to bask in it. He clenches his fists, but he cannot stop the shudder that lances through his body.

He flushes pink. The other boy must have noticed that.

Scott scratches his chin, eyes on the wall beside the blonde rather than on him. “You want to see Doc. Deaton?”

It is a risky move especially now that the hunters are more vigilant, but he’s sure that they haven’t connected Dr. Deaton to the werewolf phenomenon, and if they have – now or earlier – the man would already be dead. No such report has come in. It should be safe enough.

“Is that who told you that I might be…” Jackson frowns, “but he’s a vet.”

“Yes.” Scott swings his legs to the side of the bed and gets up. “Let’s go.”

Jackson glares out the window. “You look better today.”

“Thanks. But just so you know,” Scott half-smirks, “that’s just a bit rude of you to be talking out the window.”

Jackson huffs and nods sardonically. “Yeah. Whatever.”

He sticks his hands in his pockets. “C’mon. I’m driving.”

“I’m surprised you’re letting me into your car.” The dark haired boy whistles.

The blonde huffs and presses the unlock tab on his transponder. He opens his door and slides in. “Get in.”

Scott waits for a second or so before opening his own door and folding himself into the front passenger seat.

Their drive is mostly silent.

He glances alternatively out the window at the selfsame landscape and his usually vibrant mate. He is quiet today, somehow soft and sad. He wants more than anything to reach out and take his hand. But something like that is most likely an unwelcome and unusual in intimacy. It is also a distraction from driving, whether or not they are in the kind of relationship that allows that kind of touch.

Jackson keeps his eyes on the road and his fingers clenched in the steering wheel. Lately, he can identify _it_ waking. His skin is warming and his eyes burn a little. His eyes flash silver.

He stares out the corner of his eyes at his companion. Mate. He wants to touch him. But he isn’t sure the dark haired boy is going to allow it.

He squirms. “Scott?”

“Yes?” The brunet lets out a breath.

It sounds loud in the silence of the car and the empty street. He stares fixedly out the front window, so that he is not tempted to search the colour of the blonde’s eyes.

“I need to pull over.” Jackson’s teeth grind together. His eyes sting. He wants to close them, to block _it_ out. Because _it_ wants, needs McCall. He hates the idiot, doesn’t he*?

Scott stiffens. His mate’s heart beat is increasing. Even without his enhanced hearing, he can see the tension in his mate’s shoulders and arms. His mate is fighting the wolf, fighting himself. And he knows that he is the crux of this struggle.

He makes himself as unobtrusive as possible, curling into the passenger side door.

Jackson pulls his car onto the shoulder of the road and sets up the emergency beacon. He lowers his head onto his forearms and takes deep breaths. When he turns back up to the road, his eyes sting less and his heartbeat has slowed. He turns to his companion and pokes him.

“Huh?” The brunet almost jumps.

The blonde giggles.

Scott smiles half-heartedly. “I take it you’re ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Jackson smiles bright and brittle at Scott. “I hope Dr. Deaton can help me.”

“I don’t know if I can be…” he lowers his head and wraps his arms around himself, “happy if…”

“It’ll be okay.” Scott leans over and squeezes the blonde’s arm.

“I trust you.” Jackson looks up straight into warm brown eyes.

Scott hopes that those words aren’t going to come back to haunt him. But with his luck…better not think about it. He raises a brow. “Well?”

“Let’s go.” The blonde shifts gears and pulls the car off the shoulder back to the road.

Scott can’t help himself, but smile. His mate always seems so cheery. But it must be just the wolf and his presence. Jackson isn’t, doesn’t seem, happy at all most days. He’s always stressed about one thing or another.

He doesn’t care that it’s selfish, but he’s glad he can have this – this Jackson is all for him.

The blonde leans over and turns the dial for some pop music. He giggles a bit when mate sings along to _Nothing on You_. It’s sweet. But it’s also a bit distracting. He has to bite his bottom lip to keep himself steady. It won’t be good to crash the car.

He jerks to a stop. Thankfully there aren’t any other cars on the road – the benefit of living in a small town. His heart beats faster. He almost cannot get enough oxygen. He pants for breath.

“Jackson. Jackson.” Scott clasps a hand around the blonde’s wrist counting heartbeats.

He can count heartbeats with his hearing ability alone. But it’s more of a reassurance and anchoring thing, normalcy. He breathes evenly, too used to having asthma attacks and being on the receiving end of something like this. That doesn’t change this being a panic attack.

He can smell fear ooze out of his mate’s pores. It’s miasma chokes him and he struggles to keep calm. But he needs this. He needs his mate to be okay. More than locating and destroying the threat. He can deal with that later.

“Breathe with me.”

And his mate does, until he’s calmed down enough. But whatever it is causes the wolf to recede and the blonde shoves him straight into the door.

“Don’t touch me.” Jackson’s pupils are blown wide.

“Okay.” Scott raises hands in surrender.

They sit like that for what seems to be a long time. Some cars come by honking, but the blonde makes no move to shift gears and to either bring the car to the shoulder or drive. And the brunet keeps his mouth shut.

It’s barely ten minutes to half an hour. Jackson’s hand trembles at the wheel and when he shifts gears back to drive. They keep going. This time in silence.

When they get to Dr. Deaton’s, he turns to Scott, breathing deeply. “L-let’s do this.”

His eyes shift gradually. The wolf emerges, but he’s not as cheerful as earlier. Instead he steps right into Scott’s side and clings. The scent of fear is still strong.

Scott shifts so that he can rearrange his mate’s limbs. The older boy won’t let go of his arm. He pries fingers away from his bicep and places them against his shirt.

“Sh. It’s okay.” He presses his lips to blonde hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Jackson’s fingers twist into cotton fabric and he buries his face in the brunet’s neck. He has no claws to get better purchase and his nose is too weak to discern everything he can love about mate’s scent. Still, it’s enough to feel safe. No one will touch him as long as he’s in Scott’s arms. That much he can believe.

Fingers caress the back of his neck and his shoulders. “Okay?”

The blonde nods into the crook of mate’s neck.

The dark haired boy presses a kiss to blonde hair. “Let’s go inside and talk to Dr. Deaton.”

Jackson nods again, this time he has pulled away so that he and mate can see each other eye to eye. He lowers his head. “Thank you.”

Scott glances around them surreptitiously. The last time they came here, they were attacked. He wants that not to happen again. He opens the car door and takes care to breathe as deeply as possible through his nose. The scent of the last customer is hours old. They are the only ones here. It is safe.

He climbs out and lopes over to the driver’s side and opens the door. He holds out his hand palm up and the blonde blushes, putting his own on top as he climbs out of his seat.

They walk fingers intertwined towards animal clinic.

When they arrive at the door, Dr. Deaton is wiping down the window pane. The good doctor pulls the door open.

A blast of hot air rushes out the door into their faces. Scott wrinkles his nose and pulls his mate behind him.

“The air conditioner broke down last night,” the vet wipes his brow with his sleeve.

He takes off his gloves and walks into the back room. The two teenagers follow him.

Jackson watches with narrowed eyes as he goes to the sink and hangs his gloves on the side.

The man turns back to them and raises a brow. “How can I help you?”

“Scott said that I’m a wolf,” Jackson leans forward. The silver in his eyes fade in and out, “and something is blocking my full potential.”

“If it is what I think it is,” Deaton moves over to a yellow box marked with the sign for biohazard. He opens the lid and tilts it over a large tray covered by plastic, “there is no cure.”

The blonde squeezes his companion’s fingers. “What about the Bite?”

“It will not have the effect you want.” The good doctor sterilizes a surgical scalpel. “Further injections of Petro-vasia* will only cause side effects such as anything from cancer to various mutations at least and at worst, death. Please do not take that risk.”

Tears flow down Jackson’s cheeks. “You don’t understand! When I’m more human I forget what it’s like to…like Scott.”

“Your human self and your wolf are the same person.” Deaton puts down his instruments. “You only feel separate because of the block. Your wolf is the amplification of your instincts and emotions. All you need is to trust yourself.”

“I’m scared.” The blonde flinches and claps a hand over his mouth.

His eyes widen and steel blue begins to creep out from his pupil into his iris. He shudders but the silver doesn’t recede.

Scott can smell the truth of the words. It causes a plunging sensation in the pit of his stomach. There is more to his mate’s fear than what their relationship entails. Something, someone, has been threatening or hurting his mate. He cannot allow that to happen. He growls.

Still he is in no position to ask him for details. They are nothing to each other save their Lacrosse co-captaincy and their somewhat new and confusing friendship, regardless of Scott’s choice of Mate being Jackson. He cannot – will not – do anything that will jeopardize his position as someone trustworthy, if not always liked or loved by this boy.

He kneads at his temples.

There isn’t much he can do right now, except wait. It seems he’s been waiting a long time just for this strange camaraderie they have now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I almost ended the chapter here, but I hate writing short chapters, especially with cliff-hangers with cliched set-ups.
> 
> *In Chapter 8, I designated Petro-vasia as the virus that triggers Lycanthropy. It is a part of the genetic code of Purebred Werewolves and is usually transferred during the Bite.
> 
> \----
> 
> Hey guys,
> 
> This story is semi canon, so Peter's again going to attack soon! I know I dragged it out quite a bit, but give it a couple chapters and we'll have gore galore.
> 
> I just wanted to cement our Scackson relationship first.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> I do not know when I will be updating the next chapter. It is still under construction. But hopefully, it will be ready soon.
> 
> ~doomedpassion


	17. The Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be my longest chapter yet. It is nine pages. Usually I leave things at about five to seven pages.

Scott’s mate is terrified. He can feel his every nerve spark and every muscle tense. He wants to fight, to beat the shit out the thing that scares his mate. But he there is nothing to destroy.

And he’s completely out of his depth. He has no clue on how to comfort his Jackson. The fear that he experienced with the Change is different from his mate’s fear – his mate fears himself. The wolf fears its human; the human fears its wolf.

That’s when Scott hears it. The sound of guns being cocked. He goes to the blinds and discretely separates them to peek outside. Hunters.

He shakes out his limbs. Being tense will only lock up his muscles. They need to run.

“We need to leave.”

“What?” The silver drains from Jackson’s eyes. “No!”

Scott grabs his mate’s wrist. “It’s not safe here. There’s no plausible reason for you to be here.”

“What the hell McCall?!” The blonde attempts to throw the brunet’s grip off his arm.

He stomps on the younger boy’s foot.

Still, Scott holds on. When the blonde refuses to follow, he pulls him into his arms. He has to take a breath to keep from changing. Still, he leaps over the examination table. There is no time.

“If you say you came to keep me company at my job, they’ll pick it out as a lie. Either way, you’re going to get hurt by association to me.”

“Who are _they_?” The blonde’s eyes narrow.

“Hunters.” Scott eyes seem to sharpen at the corners – become more wolfish – and glisten brighter. “They kill our kind.”

“There is no we.” Jackson glares up at taller boy – wolf, his brain supplies. “I’m _nothing_ like you.”

He flinches.

Scott closes his eyes and takes another breath. “I can smell your fear…and your refusal to believe.”

He frowns. “It’s killing a part of you to do it. Isn’t it?”

The blonde gasps because every time he howls out some insult at McCall, hell even calling the other boy McCall, hurts something inside. He almost loses the ability to breathe when it happens. He buries his head into the brunet’s chest for the lack of anywhere else he can hide his burning face.

He is surprised by the wetness of his cheeks. Why is it worth crying over? Better yet, what is it that’s worth the tears? He doesn’t…cannot understand. Or is it that he refuses…

More tears slide down. He bites his lips to keep from sobbing.

“Hey.” Scott puts the blonde down just behind the closed door. “Hey, it’s okay.”

His mate’s scent rapidly cycles from confusion over his conflicting emotions of anger and relief. The dominant scent is one of fear. The wolf threatens to break out over his human skin and Scott has to close his eyes and breathe.

In this state, he can sense every person and thing beyond the relative safety of Dr. Deaton’s office. He knows the hunters are still out there. They won’t come in only not to involve the vet whom they believe to be an ordinary human. Well, joke’s on them, Doc. Deaton is nothing like a Mundane. But Scott is never going to reveal his mentor’s secret.

The problem, though, with these particular hunters is that they are rather impatient. They are about a hair’s trigger away from jumping in even with a so-called Mundane civilian on the premise.

If they want him, they are going to get him.

But first, Scott needs to make sure his mate can reach safety.

“I need you to trust me for a minute.” He tilts the blonde’s chin up.

The boy’s teal grey eyes are rimmed red and there are salt tracks traced on his cheeks. His nose is peaky and his pretty pink lips are bitten raw.

Jackson nods.

“I need you to stay here.” Scott looks the older boy in the eyes. “I need you to pretend that you’re here to adopt a pet.”

The blonde’s eyes flash silver, and he nods again.

“And I need you to rendezvous with me at the edge of the forest by the junction of Forrest Hill Park and Woodbine.”

The blonde lowers his head. “I need to get home.”

The silver in his eyes drains until it is just a thin ring around his pupil. His eyes shift from side to side and his fingers drum against his thighs. He gnaws at his bottom lip. A bead of blood squeezes out of a crack in his soft skin.

The brunet’s eyes are immediately drawn towards it. He licks his lips in an attempt to keep himself steady. He wants to lean over and press his lips over the wound and sooth it.

He does lean over, but this time to hold his mate’s hands in his own. “It…it’s not safe.”

He raises his eyes back to his companion’s. “I want to you to be safe…”

And the blonde shivers. They both know what Scott implies, but won’t say: with me.

Jackson leans forward until there is only an inch between them. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

I trust you. Just as the brunet doesn’t need to say anything neither does he to get his message across. The silver in his eyes expands and covers his the entirety of his irises.

The wolf nods. “See you later.”

He crosses that last inch and inhales the scent of his mate from his blonde curls.

Jackson’s blood rushes up to his cheeks and ducks his head. But he gets the feeling that the brunet knows exactly what’s going on with him. Still, he won’t show any weakness – never mind that hiding his embarrassment is a blaring signal more so than blushing and being proud of it.

Scott shakes his head and fails to bite back the curve of his lips. He whistles a bit of a jaunty tune as he walks out the door. He strides toward his bike. All the while, he watches the hunters out of the corner of his eyes and the hunters watch him.

A couple raise their eyebrows, cock their heads at his bike and at each other. Do werewolves actually bike around town?

The wolf – not that they know for sure that he is – scoffs internally at their behaviour. He swings his leg over his bike and hates himself a bit. His mate’s scent fraught with an overlaying nervousness. But he needs to do this to keep attention away from the blonde.

He lets the thrill of wind in his hair lead him to their rendezvous point. He makes sure to take the bike trail. It’ll help his alibi. Those guys will already know who he is: the kid who volunteers at the vet’s office, a probable nature freak. Poor too, given the state of his bike – it is rather old, though self-maintained and well taken care of.

And they won’t know as much about Jackson beyond the fact that he’s rich given by his rather expensive car. Probably a lonely kid wanting a pet to keep him company when his parents won’t.

Scott knows that it’ll work. He slips off the bike and props it up against a tree. He sits down at its base and waits.

A second later, he hears the thrum of his mate’s Porsche pass by. The blonde needs to bring his car home. It’s why the brunet chose this particular juncture by the forest to meet. It’s only a fifteen minute walk from his mate’s house.

He closes his eyes and breathes. Something slams against his shin. His eyes pop open. That something turns out to be a pair of steel toed boots. He must have dozed off a bit. Oops. At least neither of them are in immediate danger.

Jackson stands over his rival and teammate. His irises are steel blue. The silver sheen has receded to thin bands around his pupils. There is a crease in his eyebrows.

“Sorry.” Scott yawns. “Let’s go.”

Not more than a few steps into the forest, the blonde jerks his thumb at the bike.

The brunet sighs. He needs to let go of his bike. Its tire tracks are too obvious.

“C’mon.” Scott nods deeper into the trees. “It’ll be too easy to find right here.”

The blonde rolls his eyes and follows his companion inward.

A couple miles into the woods, Scott props his bike against a tree and slaps on a remote control GPS transponder – Stiles will be by to pick it up later, if need be. He has never been gladder to have Stiles as his best friend and brother. He’ll probably need to report it stolen or missing and give her a new paint job after.

He sniffs at the air. They are safe for the moment, since it is just the two of them in this part of the forest. But he knows that making any sound will attract attention from their pursuers. He is averse to getting killed. And if the worst comes to light he will fight to keep his mate alive no matter the cost.

His eyes glow red.

They have been running for hours, when Jackson bleats a muffled whimper. He collapses on the ground behind the transformed werewolf.

Scott crouches down beside his mate. “How’s your foot?”

“It’s fine.” Jackson clutches at his jacket to keep from reaching for his painful calf.

“You’re in pain.” Scott takes the initiative and looks the blonde boy in the eyes. “I can smell it.”

“What?” The blonde flinches away from the brunet. “You’re such a freak McCall.”

“We were almost killed by hunters. Me and Derek, you _know_ we’re werewolves!” Scott frowns. “Here you are, calling me a freak?”

Jackson stares at him. The terrified expression from earlier flickers behind disbelief and pride. He swallows.

“Let me see, okay?” Scott reaches out slowly and steadily, as if his mate is a scared rabbit about to bolt – his mate is registering as a prey and he hates it.

“You could kill me.” The blonde shivers. “Why did you rescue me?”

Scott shrugs. As much as he pretends it doesn’t affect him, he can’t keep the harshness from his voice. “It’s not your business. Not right now anyway.”

“You rescued me.” Jackson frowns. “You don’t just do that for the person you hate.”

His mate’s belief in his hatred of him hurts. The brunet can no longer pretend that he even to himself that he is impassive in this. How can he answer that without giving his feelings away?

He stares at his hands. “I don’t hate you.”

The blonde’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“No.” Scott looks up into his mate’s eyes.

“Okay.” A crease forms again between the older boy’s eyebrows. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Scott shrugs. “You’re co-captain. I couldn’t let you die, and I can’t let you pretend you’re not physically injured to save your pride, Whittemore.”

His eyes flash yellow. “Now let me see.”

“F-fine.” The blonde shifts – and winces – to make his leg more accessible for examination.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” The brunet rolls his eyes. “Geez.”

He frowns. “Your leg is broken. I’m going to have amend my statement. I don’t have any pain killers and I really need to set that.”

“Can’t I just go to the hospital?”

“And just how are we going to get out of here for that?”

There’s the crack of a branch breaking and it is loud enough to be quite close.

Scott stiffens. “Quiet.”

He crouches down, examines the surrounding landscape. There. It’s a bit of a hollow, and well camouflaged. He slides down and pulls Jackson as gently down as he can.

“Ow!” Jackson hisses, glaring at him.

“I know. I’m sorry,” whispers Scott.

There’s barely enough room to move, but he rolls trying to put himself between the opening of the burrow and Jackson. There’s a moment where he’s on top of Jackson. Shit. I just had to get a stiffy. He takes a deep breath trying to will it away.

“What…” Jackson stares straight into McCall’s eyes. His eyes widen. “Is that…?

Scott closes his eyes.

“Oh.” A light blush dusts Jackson’s cheeks. “I-”

As much as he’s claimed that he’s everyone’s type, he’s never been in contact with a boy – a man, who so clearly wants him. He can feel his heart beat faster and skin heat up. He’s flattered and scared all at once. He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he wants more. He’s never felt this way before, not even for Lydia.

A part of him thinks he must have hit his head on top of breaking his leg because that’s McCall. He should hate him. But he’s just saved him from getting shot and –

He’s so warm, and strong and –

He wants. He can see it mirrored in McCall – Scott’s eyes. He gasps for breath because he can’t breathe. That’s how much he wants.

His eyes blink silver.

“Sorry,” whispers Scott. He can’t afford to get distracted. He has to protect the human – Jackson’s wolf is still mostly asleep – who’s inadvertently bumbled into the supernatural. And this particularly belligerent boy is his mate. He digs his clawed fingers into his hands. He’s more centred. Pain can be a good anchor when he’s not in the right state of mind to think of his mother.

There’s a crackle of dry wood, andn the sound of dogs barking. They pass over their tiny burrow. Mountain ash for all its weakening elements for werewolves also affects dogs. There’s panting and the patter of their feet and the crunch of boots.

The moment is over. Scott rolls onto his side. His back is to the dying light in the opening.

“You need to be really quiet.” He attempts not to frown and instead stares his companion in the eyes. “I’m going to try setting and splinting your leg, okay?”

“O-okay.” Jackson nods.

McCall’s willing to help him. What else can he say?

“I’m going to have to rip your pants and move your leg, so that I can wrap it. It’s going to hurt.” The wolf gently lifts his mate’s leg, placing his leg onto his own lap. It still jars because he sees the furrow in his mate’s brow and hears a hiss of breath. He rubs his mate’s knee soothingly.

Jackson shivers, when Scott’s smooth thumb drags across his skin.

“Keep still,” growls Scott hoarsely, but whisper quiet. “There’s only so much I can do for you if you don’t.”

Scott rips his mate’s pants, up past his knee. It’s the calf where the bone is broken. He winces seeing the full extent of the damage. He wipes off as much blood as he can one handed, using the other hand both to support the leg and leech pain from his mate. There’s a lot of blood, when most of it is wiped away his enhanced eyesight allows him to note that the break is clean. There’s not many small bone pieces. Its surrounding area is already swollen.

“That’s your tibia,” mutters Scott, as he forces himself to be clinical. “Usually, when it breaks, the fibula on the other side is also broken.”

I can’t afford to lose control. I can’t allow them to hurt Jackson. Protect. Provide. Good mate. He bites his lip and grimaces. He’s never wanted more than anything to kill the people who hurt his mate. He knows his eyes are changing colour because his mate hiccoughs and the scent of fear permeates their hideout. He closes his eyes and counts backwards from five hundred. It’s the best he can do. Neither Stiles nor his mom are here to anchor him.

When he feels more human, he opens his eyes. “Shush. I won’t hurt you. Remember what I said at the Hale house? That wouldn’t be possible if I killed you would it?”

Jackson doesn’t cry out in pain because there is a surprising lack of it. But he almost does in shock when he sees black trail up Scott’s veins. He whimpers when the brunet presses his fingers down on bruised and torn flesh. He bites his lip to stop from screaming when the wolf snaps the bones back into place.

Scott pulls off his shirt, dusts off grass and wood chips. There’s some stain, but it’ll have to do for now. He rips it up to form bandages. He lays the cleanest strips on his mate’s lap ready for the first layer.

The blonde watches cheeks pinking because he can’t help but stare at Scott’s naked chest as it is slowly revealed. He’s still riding the high of the last dregs of arousal. He bites his lip to prevent a whimper. He wants – He swallows dry instead.

The brunet wraps the bandages tight around the blonde’s leg, starting at the ankle. The closer he gets to the swelling he keeps the bandage tight. He winces. He can tell from the spike in his mate’s vitals and from the increase in pain that he’s receiving.

He says quiet and steady, “Shush. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Jackson shivers and sighs, almost completely relaxing his body. He feels safe and protected. He knows he shouldn’t – McCall is his rival and he’s…he’s a werewolf…a monster, except he isn’t – but he does. He’s boneless and content, nearly out of it when a warm hand nudges his shoulder. He opens his eyes.

Scott’s eyes are glowing red.

“Stay.” Scott’s eyes are narrowed, his tone of voice remains the same. “I need to find something to splint your leg.”

Jackson nods. He can’t speak. His mouth is too dry. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he also doesn’t want to be out there where it’s dangerous. He watches Scott slink out the hollow and stalk stealthily across the ground. He closes his eyes. If he watches any more he’ll want that focus turned on himself and – That’s a really bad idea.

There’s a crunch. His eyes fly open. There’s someone standing at the opening of the hollow is a man – a hunter with his gear. Jackson shivers. Would they kill him just for associating with werewolves? He’s not keen on talking to this one. He curls in to make himself look smaller. He hisses in pain.

“Hello there. What’s a pretty boy doing out here by all himself?” croons the hunter.

“I…my friend and I were out here climbing trees. He’s looking for something to splint my broken leg.” Jackson waves at his bandaged leg. “We heard gunshots and – I got scared. I lost my balance and fell.”

“Aw. Is this friend of yours a boyfriend?” mocks the hunter.

“Yes.” Jackson glares.

His eyes widen a fraction when he sees McCall prowling closer. He shivers even though he probably shouldn’t. It would look suspicious, but then he thinks about the way the hunter’s been looking at him and McCall’s presence. He shifts closer to the back curve of the hollow, and whimpers, “M…Scott! I’m scared.”

“This creep bothering you, Jacks?” Scott’s voice is pleasant, but subtly aggressive.

Jackson shivers – he will never ever admit it, but McCall’s protectiveness is attractive. No wonder why Allison’s so into him – and nods. He bites his lip. As much as he hates McCall, he needs the werewolf – he’s got to be crazy to accept that – to protect him. He’s injured which means he can’t fight back. That creep sure as hell wasn’t looking at him like he wanted to help him to the hospital, instead he wanted what seems to be a quick fuck with a pretty fairy. He sure as hell isn’t a fag.

“Look. Whoever you are leave us the hell alone,” snaps Scott, he stalks up to the hunter until he’s less than a foot away. He keeps the change at bay, but his body heat’s high enough to give him away.

“Does your pretty boy know your secret little wolf?” hisses the hunter.

He dislikes the scent of lying on people, but he has no choice. If the bastard finds out that Jackson knows the truth, he’ll be in danger of being killed. So he does the one thing he hates. He lies. It’s not like the bastard will know anyway.

“No,” growls Scott. “I would prefer he doesn’t find out over my dead body.”

He shoves the hunter away. Whisper soft, he says, “Oh and one more thing, what’s to say he won’t go and tell my best friend’s dad the sheriff that you murdered his boyfriend?”

The hunter gnashes his teeth. He turns and walks away. He’s still within distance when he hears the pretty boy coo, “My saviour.”

He smirks. That pretty boy will be his prize once he takes care of the arrogant wolf.

Scott growls. He can still smell the arousal pouring off the bastard hunter in waves. He wraps his arms around Jackson – possessive and protective.

He whispers, “just in case he looks back.”

Jackson doesn’t mind as much as he ought to. Their charade is becoming something more, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Now that he’s seen a different side of McCall, he kind of really likes him. He also kind of really likes being held in his strong arms. He feels safe and cherished. He’s never had that before – maybe that’s why he likes it so much. Well, he doesn’t need it, especially not from McCall. He _is_ the best.

“Get off me,” growls Jackson.

“Yes, your highness,” deadpans Scott. “I guess you won’t be needing this,” he waves the sticks he’s found, “right?”

“Fine,” snaps Jackson. He shifts a bit in the hollow, and lets his rival in.

Scott smirks. Seems like his mate’s back to normal. All his defences are locked back on. And there’s that fiery temper that used to frustrate him to no end. Now? He listens to that raised heartbeat, watches the flush that runs into his cheeks and smells spring with spice – cinnamon. His mate’s beautiful when he’s angry. If he’s still as uncontrolled as the day he first scented his mate, he would’ve already mounted him. Right now? He’s more interested in riling his mate up a little more just to see if he can break those shields and after –––– Well, he _is_ a teenaged male and a hot-blooded werewolf.

“I can’t help you if you don’t let me.” The wolf forces amusement down and the smirk slides off his lips like water. He sit back down on the ground and waits for his mate to respond.

“Fine,” Jackson pokes his rival on the chest. “This doesn’t get out. You hear me?”

“Sure,” chirps Scott.

He gently shifts mate’s leg again and this time he wraps the bandages carefully around the sticks that he places at three points as a brace. He keeps the bandages as tight as he is able, watching his mate’s face for cues and using his supporting hand to draw out pain.

Jackson doesn’t make a sound and his face is a blank mask.

Scott relies on his other senses to determine his mate’s condition. He can divine nothing wrong, so he brushes his thumb along his mate’s inner arch as he slowly lower’s his mate’s leg. When he sets it down, he slips his mate’s sock back onto his foot.

“How would you like to get back?”

“Walk.” The blonde grabs the brunet’s shoulders and attempts to stand up.

He whimpers at even just a little bit of his weight falls on his broken leg. His nails dig into his companion’s shoulders as he leans most of his weight onto the stronger male. He’ll admit that it is an advantage now, but on the lacrosse field…well, that’s another matter.

“You mean limp?”

Jackson grits his teeth, jaw tightening. “Limp then.”

“Or,” says Scott quietly, “I can carry you to the hospital and I can take your car back to your place. My mom’s working tonight.”

“Fine,” snarls Jackson, “do whatever you want because I obviously don’t have a say.”

“That’s not what I meant,” whispers Scott. “I just don’t want you having to hurt more than you already do.”

“Since when do you care?” The blonde glares.

“Since I imprinted on you!” shouts the wolf, before he can shove the thought to the very back of his limbic system.

“What?” The older boy stumbles from the shock and he nearly tumbles onto his face when he jars his broken leg.

“Never mind,” the younger boy shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Obviously it concerns me.” The blonde narrows his eyes “You just said you did something to me.”

“Your scent it’s just…so good.” Scott’s pupils are blown so wide that black swallows chocolate brown. “You smell like spring, like fresh cut grass, soil, spearmint, leather, and– I could barely control myself the first day I noticed it. I wanted…and now you smell like cinnamon too and…want you so bad. Stephanie Meyer had one thing right. My universe shifted that day. You. You’ve become the centre of my universe.”

“Are you high on some sort of mushroom?”

“You make me high.”

Scott’s lost all control of himself. He’s on top of his mate within seconds. He snuffling against his mate’s neck.

“Get off. McCall this isn’t funny. Get off!” Jackson shoves against the amorous werewolf, and pushes with the wrong leg. He cries out in pain.

Scott jumps away, scalded. Mate hurt. Hurt mate. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He forces himself to calm down, taking deep breaths and concentrating on the near silence of the forest. “I’ll carry you to the hospital. That’s splint isn’t going to hold up if you try to limp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> I'm sorry if the title is a bit confusing this time. I just wanted it to fit with the article + noun schema I had going on. In case you didn't get it, it refers to Jackson's broken leg.
> 
> As for my updating schedule, it'll be sporadic as usual. This chapter is out so fast only because it was mainly an edit.
> 
> I have a couple bits and pieces for later on ready, but I haven't written the next five to six chapters yet, so I don't know when I'll update next.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It took me a half a year to get it this way.
> 
> I hope the next couple chapters won't take that long. Let's all cross our fingers okay?
> 
> ~doomedpassion
> 
> Chapter 1 - 17 have now been edited: August 16, 2015.
> 
> ~doomedpassion


	18. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a long time since I've updated this fic. I've become motivated again to continue, so here we have chapter 18 which I have finally finished. I have a couple concerns. I'm not sure I have the right voice as narrator dipping into Scott's headspace. Nor do I have a title for this chapter. In any case, I hope you guys enjoy. <3

The brunet wolf gently holds his precious charge in his arms, even as he races through the woods.  He is grateful that the blonde human is willing to trust him this far.  He knows that is more to do with their situation than any natural tendency to trust someone he has always thought of as an enemy to overcome.  But Scott is willing to take his blessings where they are.  Also, there is the slight chance that the blonde’s wolf is bleeding through stronger than before.  That is something he is squeamish about praying for; it is much too selfish to do that much.  He is cautious as he makes his way through the underbrush; to hide his tracks making sure to always cross a river or two to keep his scent from becoming a beacon to the hunt.  If he were on his own, he would scale a tree or two and jump spaces, but he can’t with his arms full with his mate’s injured body.  Under normal circumstances – or if he wanted to show off, really – he would leap about a foot.  However, he is at present unwilling to jostle his mate’s broken leg.

“It wasn’t completely a dream, was it?”

Scott is completely focused on his errand – and his thoughts – that the question completely derided.  He falters. “W-what?”

“That night…” the blonde bites his bottom lip, “I don’t remember very much, but you were at my window.”

The brunet’s mouth is suddenly desert dry and he swallows.  He tilts his head down to look at the blonde’s teal-grey eyes.  He blinks, unable to keep that gaze and lie.  He licks his lips.  He can’t bring himself to speak.

“And…after…?”

“Yeah.” It comes out like a croak and Scott coughs.

His cheeks burn brightly in the night.

“I-I’m glad.” The blonde is flushed equally pink.  He buries his face in the brunet’s shirt.

Scott is glad that his mate cannot see his face at the moment.  The lust he feels is manifest in his features.  He is sure that the blonde will be terrified at the sight of it.  Even better that his charge’s senses are within a human range.  He cannot smell the brunet’s hormones saturating the air.

He turns his focus towards the run – the wind through his hair, the thump of his feet, the trees and their roots in the ground, the warmth of his mate, he should turn his thoughts away, his scent.  He is so caught up that he finds himself skidding to a halt at the corner of the street right outside the emergency room.

“McCall, put me down.” The blonde raises his eyes to glare into the brunet’s.

The brunet’s eyes, in contrast, are large and earnest. “You’re hurt.  There’s no shame…”

“I am _not_ gay.” Jackson bares his teeth.

“I see.” Scott closes his eyes.

His stomach seems to drop right out of his feet.  His first instinct is to drop to his knees and beg his mate to accept that they belong together.  He takes a deep breath and ignores the glaring and the punches against his arms and chest.  He keeps his steps steady, slow.  Even with his desperation and burgeoning irritation, he won’t allow harm to come to his mate.  It is – as he attempts to convince himself – another way by which to proves his worth.

The automatic doors open for him.

Scott breathes out.  It is safer here than anywhere else at the moment.  The hunters have no legitimate reason to barge into the Emergency room.  And in other places like the woods or Jackson’s house – they can break in with no immediate repercussions.

Here, his mate will be taken care of.  His nose aches with the scent of chemicals that keep infection from growing and spreading.  It hurts, but he can bear almost anything for his mate.  The one thing he cannot and will absolutely not allow is their separation.  It isn’t the risk of death on his part that scares him.  It is the risk of harm toward his mate.

It is more than his duty.  It is his sole existence to keep his mate happy and hale.

They are lucky that today is a good day at the Emergency and that not too many people are about.  They walk right up to triage without having to line up.

He set the blonde on the chair. “My friend and I were out in the woods.  We became spooked by the sound of gunshots – I think there were men out there hunting the wolf-thing that is terrorizing the town.  My friend broke his leg when we were running out.”

The woman behind the glass window frowns. “Mr. McCall you shouldn’t have broken curfew.”

Scott looks down. “I know Maria.”

Maria has known him since he was a tot.  She has been one of his more frequent baby sitters when he was very young, he thinks, he remembers there being a doctor, a pretty brunet most of the time.

“You sure learned your lesson.” Maria glares at the boy.

She turns to the blonde, “Poor boy.  I’m sure you know this already, but Scott’s always been a trouble maker, he became even more of one when that Stilinski kid took a liking to him.”

Jackson dips his head, hiding his frown.

“Your name, address and phone number please.”

He looks up and there she is smiling at him.  He gives her the information and leans back closing his eyes.

Scott looks down at his mate and smiles.  The blonde is rather endearing when he’s exhausted.  His breaths blow against loose blond strands and his lips are relaxed instead of trapped in their usual thin line.  He slaps himself upside the head.  He cannot allow Maria to assume that he and Jackson are a couple.  It will be a serious breach of whatever thin bond they have over their shared terror over the hunters and their little sessions at his house.  He grits his teeth when he sees the sly look in her eyes.

He shakes his head and the light drops from her eyes.

She gets Jackson’s paperwork set up pretty fast.  She sends for a nurse to take the blonde in a wheelchair to the examination room across the hall.

Scott sits outside to wait.  He almost dozes off when the scent of his mate has him jerking upright.

The blonde comes out of the room, being pushed by the same nurse who had taken him inside.  The woman leaves them both with the express command to wait so that the technician can get his leg x-rayed and for the doctor on roster to examine it.

They wait a little less than half an hour for the x-ray.  Scott spends the entirety of the time waiting, watching his mate for discomfort.

“What?” Jackson glares.

“You’re in pain and…” The brunet bites his bottom lip, “I’m worried.”

It should not be cute, but it is.  The blonde’s eyes flash silver.  He grits his teeth.

“Stop it McCall.” He rubs at his temples. “You’re being a creep.”

Scott looks down at his hands, at the wall, at the TV and back down at his hands.  They remain silent, until the nurse comes back for Jackson.

The brunet nods. “See you later, I guess.”

The blonde rolls his eyes and sticks out his middle finger.

Scott averts his eyes and does not blush, really.  He doesn’t notice the blonde’s response, or maybe even lack thereof because he is already being pushed towards the room with the x-ray machine.  Waiting is unbearable this time.  He’s excessively horny – he is a teenager and a werewolf.  His metabolism is many times a human teenagers.  But this hardly the most appropriate place to take the edge off, besides he is worried about his mate.  But the anxiety is only fueling the impulse to take the blonde back to his house and examine him thoroughly.  However he manages with the help of the burning scent of disinfectant and washing his face in cold water in the bathroom to control himself.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

Jackson’s scent comes closer.  Scott relaxes.  He listens to the creaking of the wheelchair that he’s come to recognize as the one his mate has been using.  The nurse parks the chair next to the brunet and he opens his eyes.

“Hey.”

The blonde grunts.

They wait another hour for the doctor to see the blonde.  The doctor’s red hair is frizzy and her coat is wrinkled.  She rushes over and examines her patient.

“Although you’ve done an excellent job with the splint, Scott,” she turns to the brunet, “We’re going to keep your friend’s leg splinted.  Normally I wouldn’t want to move anything in the case that we cause further breakage in tibula, but given the fact that your skin has been broken, we need to do surgery as soon as possible to help you heal faster.”

The diagnosis is as much as Scott feared.  The fibula is snapped.  Luckily the bone is relatively in its normal position thanks to his own first aid training (albeit it is in veterinary terms).  He winces.  If only he hadn’t drawn attention to his mate.  But there is nothing he can do now but support the blond boy.

“Did I ever tell you how much I hate you, McCall?”

The brunet flinches. “I’m sorry.”

He bows his head.  His fingers twist in his jean pockets. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.  Really!  I swear!”

“I know.”

Jackson’s voice is so soft, Scott would have thought that he was mistaken if he didn’t have superhuman senses.  He looks up and his mate’s blue-green eyes are fixed right onto his own.  This is the acknowledgement that he has always been waiting for, and for it to be now, the brunet swallows convulsively.

Jackson hikes up an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Um…now that you’re settled, I’m just going to…go keep watch outside just in case.”

“You go do that then…”

Scott turns out the door.  He goes to the waiting area and watches the doors as much as he can.  His nose is near ineffective with all the chemical scents.  His ears are also clogged with the sounds of machines.  He isn’t going to be able to enter once visitor’s hours are over so he’ll go to the roof then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are finally about 20% into the fic. I hope to be able to sustain a posting streak for longer than before. So cheer me on, okay
> 
> I am also working on my Katekyo and PGSM cross over, if you're interested: _Earthian and the Neo Silver Millenium_ @ http://archiveofourown.org/series/726717
> 
> I am also still working on the FT and Naruto fics featured in my final notes too. Oh dear, i really need to clear my plate because of Life Outside the Internet!

**Author's Note:**

> And just a friendly reminder that this fic. is not completely AU, with the exception of ambivalence/Scott losing his attraction to Allison, everything has a reference point to canon. There will be references and parallels to the show, but think of this as a McCallmore or Scackson rewrite ~~, if badly done~~.
> 
> Just a heads up, please subscribe to the series page because I'm probably going to write some one shots from Jackson's point of view and will be linking them here since is told by a third person narrator from over Scott's shoulder most of the time with some interjections from other characters.
> 
> \----
> 
> If you're a fan of Fairy Tail and Naruto, check out [BRAVE](http://archiveofourown.org/series/279192) (Gratsu [COMPLETE]) and its prequel [ In Season ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/281124)(Gratsu [TBA] + Bickslow/Laxus [COMPLETE] + Mest/Erik [COMPLETE] + other Dragon Slayer pairings [TBA]), and [ Spread My Wings ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4407482/chapters/10009865) (one-sided KakaObi + pre-NaruSasu + others [WIP]) 
> 
> ~doomedpassion


End file.
